


A Commutual Contract

by SKayLanphear



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bedsharing, Cuddling, Depression, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mentions of attempted suicide, Nightmares, Oblivious boys being oblivious, PTSD, Romance, at first, rivals to friends, then it gets better XD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:32:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 103,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9555170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SKayLanphear/pseuds/SKayLanphear
Summary: After a terrifying experience during which Lance, seemingly, dies, Keith is haunted by horrible nightmares of holding his comrade in his arms while he took his final breath. To the point where he can't sleep unless he knows for absolute certain that Lance is alive.And while the attention is surprising, Lance doesn't really have a problem with Keith checking up on him. Or the fact that Keith only seems totally comforted when he can cuddle Lance close and hear his heart beat. After all, there's nothing wrong with two bros cuddling. It doesn't MEAN anything. Or, at least, that's what Lance keeps telling himself.THIS WORK IS ON INDEFINITE HIATUS.





	1. Chapter 1

It didn't matter how many drills they practiced or how in sync their thoughts were—sometimes things just didn't go as planned. Actually, Keith was learning that, more often than not, nothing ever went as planned. Rather, what defined their situation was their ability to think around it and scrape together something new from the falling debris.

Yet, even that too would fail at some point.

They'd been responding to another distress call, which was hardly out of the ordinary. Any and all distress calls were answered, and so going into unknown territory—territory potentially overrun by Galra—was no new occurrence. Still, each encounter was different, and this one was going far, far worse than even their regular dosage of what could be considered bad to worse.

It'd all happened very quickly.

The distress call had come from another Balmera, this one much, much more alive than the one they'd previously encountered and the people living within a far cry from wanting to submit to the Galra. From what little info was able to be gathered, the Balmerans—who, though were clearly related to the Balmerans they'd met previously, were skinnier, taller, and spikier, with darker complexions—had been enslaved for quite some time, but had always pushed forward with underground attempts at sabotage. With the news of Voltron spreading across the universe, it'd only been a matter of time before they'd decided to call for help.

And so Voltron was there, though it'd been split into its five lion pieces. Mostly in attempts to separate the Galra defenses, luring the masses orbiting the Balmera into different directions.

Keith hadn't intended to break the atmosphere, but he also hadn't intended to be side-swiped by an ion canon blast, which had left his lion comatose. Victim to the Balmera's gravity, they'd plunged through the atmosphere toward it, Keith doing his best to get Red up and moving again. Before the force of their drop destroyed them both.

"C'mon, Red!" he said through gritted teeth, slamming his hands down on the dashboard but procuring no response. He knew Red was trying to heal up—to use whatever mechanical healing abilities were at her disposal—but it wasn't fast enough. They were gaining speed all the time, twisting through the clouds uncontrollably.

"What are you doing, Keith?!" It was Lance's voice that broke over his com.

"Red's not working!" he yelled out in frustration. "We couldn't get out of the way of the ion blast!"

"Where are you?" It was Shiro who asked, but Keith knew he was too far to do anything. No point in announcing his imminent demise.

Shit. He was going to die, wasn't he? Blasted apart with Red. Because for all their versatility, not even his lion was going to make it out of this predicament unscathed.

But it was happening too quickly for Keith to comprehend. Wasn't he supposed to see his life flashing before his eyes? Or feel some kind of regret? Or have a heroic speech ready for his teammates about how sorry he was?

Well, he didn't. All he had was his frustrated hands desperately gripping Red's dashboard as the world outside twisted and spiraled like some kind of sick amusement park ride.

That, and the feeling that this whole situation was a royal waste of his potential. He hadn't even gone by way of doing something helpful. He'd just happened to fly in the wrong direction at the wrong time. Bad judgement, really, and…

And inevitability.

Sitting back in his chair, Keith closed his eyes and tried not to think about it.

If he didn't feel anything, then he didn't have to be-

He didn't-

With a hard jerk, he strained against the belts of his seat, eyes bugging wide as he glanced out the windshield. Only to see the familiar metal and blue contours of his teammate blocking his view, the bigger lion no doubt putting out all the stops in an effort to slow their decent.

Keith grinned, looking up almost like he could see Lance when he spoke. "I don't remember asking for your help." He managed to sound sour despite the relief that flowed through him.

"I don't remember caring," Lance rebuked shortly, their familiar back and forth more comforting to Keith than Lance probably realized.

He was alive. It'd been a close call, but, then again, so had so many other moments since they'd been catapulted into space together.

A routine outside of the expected.

Inevitable, they all thought. But manageable.

It was a comfort Keith should have known better than to have faith in.

Red was still out of commission and Blue was carrying all her weight in her claws. They were still dropping toward the ground, but slower. Which was good for the decent, but not for getting away.

Against the Balmeran sky, they were nothing more than a giant target against the odd beige color of the clouds.

Easily seen and easily shot down.

"Shit!" Lance swore over the com, the strain in his voice wiping the grin from Keith's lips. His lion was still down—none of his equipment was working.

"What?" he barked.

" _Shit_!" Lance said again.

" _What_?!"

Abruptly, Red was jostled in the air, like they'd tried to dodge to the side. But the moment was fleeting. A second later, Keith's windshield was completely blinded by a ray of purple light, one he had to physically shy away from.

Once more, he was falling.

"Lance?!" he yelled into the com. The light cleared and he peered out the windshield again, tumbling once more through the air. And as his lion spun, he caught sight of another. Blasted away and sinking, unmoving, through the sky beside him. "Lance!" He screamed, struck with horror at the sight of the blue lion, smoking and charred and broken and _dark_. He didn't know what had happened—what blast could have been powerful enough that it'd nearly severed the blue lion's head from its body—but the sight was enough to chill his blood.

" _Lance_!"

The next moment he was crashing into the Balmeran landscape.

Naturally, the impact was enough to knock him around some. He lost consciousness, head banging hard on the back of his seat, and woke up to the gasping sounds of his own breathing against silence.

He was immediately assaulted by the image of the blue lion.

"Lance?!" he called into his com, coughing as he yanked himself free of his seat belts and pushed himself to his feet.

He stumbled, assaulted by nausea and dizziness. The back of his head ached horribly, almost badly enough to knock him to the ground completely, and something in his shoulder stretched painfully.

But he was alive. He had Lance to thank for that—to thank for slowing their fall.

"Lance…?"

Still nothing.

"Are you two alright?" It was Shiro, though he sounded distracted and strained. Likely he was still battling the Galra.

"We're- I-"

Keith coughed again. He didn't know.

"Keith?" It was Pidge. "Where's Lance? What happened?"

"I'm going to get him," he said simply, forcing himself to sound calm and collected, if only to spare his friends more worry than necessary—so they'd assume things were going better than they were. "Just focus on beating the Galra."

Dragging his bruised body back and down beneath the cockpit, he pressed the emergency latch that would allow him to leave Red, even with her power completely gone. Her mouth opened immediately, allowing Keith to lurch into the chilly sunlight that the Balmera was pulling in from a nearby star.

Breathing deeply within his mask, he blinking against the brightness and scanned the horizon.

Thankfully, Blue was both accessible and nearby. She'd careened into the ground only about a half mile off, leaving a giant scar behind, just as Red had. Hopping down out of his lion's mouth, Keith ignored any pain that echoed through his body in favor of finding ground and shoving toward his comrade. He didn't consider what would be waiting inside Blue; he didn't fathom the worst case scenario of Lance not responding. Nor did he acknowledge the blasting above his head, seeming so far off into space in comparison to the broken blue lion before him.

He pushed forward until he was sliding down the slight incline Blue's landing had created, the lion on its side and without any lights as Keith sprinted toward its head.

"Lance!" he called into the com again, hoping it wouldn't be too distracting to the others. "Lance, open up!" He banged his fist on Blue's giant mouth, ignoring the awkward angle of her head and the damage it was evidence of.

"Lance?!" Hunk called into the com, as if that would somehow help the situation.

Grinding his teeth, Keith continued to bang on Blue's mouth, mentally willing the lion to open up.

"C'mon!" he growled. "I'm here to help!"

The lions were sentient, even if they were also machines. And Keith had the feeling that, even at their worst, they could still process some of what was going on around them. Which was why he wasn't surprised when the hatch that would allow him up into Blue's mouth finally opened, albeit only a crack.

But it was enough for Keith to squeeze through. The platform that led one up into the cockpit was dark and unguided, but Keith knew the way. He sprinted along the path, breathing heavily when he finally found himself in the cockpit.

As well as surrounded in the worst of the damage.

Whatever it was that had hit really had torn Blue's neck apart. The crack was visible, the ceiling of the cockpit—which was a wall with her head turned on the side as it was—torn and fraying with metal shards. The whole right side of the bay was blown apart, the windshield cracked and the pilot's chair tossed from its rigging. It was wedged in the front, between the dash and the windshield.

And before it, sprawled across the the side of the control panel, was Lance.

For the first time since this whole mishap had begun, Keith was assaulted by pure and strangling terror. He didn't fear death, not for himself, but he did fear something else.

The very sight before him—Lance laying there, unresponsive and broken—was exactly what frightened him more than anything else in the whole universe.

His family, each one of them…

"Lance?" He called out brokenly, heart beating fast in his chest as he carefully maneuvered through the broken cockpit toward the limp body. It wasn't a far trek and soon he was standing beside the control panel, arms shaking as he reached out and laid his hands atop Lance's breastplate.

Beneath it, the black of the armor was soaked through with something darker.

His helmet was cracked.

"Lance…?" Keith slipped his hands up toward his comrade's head, so scared that he wasn't even sure he was brave enough look for the truth.

When Lance coughed, he almost broke out in tears.

"Jesus, Lance!" Keith breathed out, hardly hearing the other sighs of relief coming through the coms.

As if Lance's abrupt consciousness set the whole cockpit off balance, his limp body began to slide down the control panel, which sent Keith's heart into his throat. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around Lance's chest and gingerly pulled him close, hugging him before lowering himself into a crouch. Soon, he was on his knees on the floor (side wall?) with Lance cradled in his arms.

Despite how uncomfortable being slightly moved likely had been, Lance said nothing.

He barely breathed.

"Hey, hey, Lance," Keith murmured, reaching up with one hand and laying it along the side of Lance's helmet. "Look at me."

He didn't put his focus on the growing stain beneath Lance's breastplate, nor consider which of the metal pieces littered about had done the damage.

Lance moaned lightly, lashes fluttering some.

"What's going on?!" Pidge's voice yelled over the com. "Is Lance alright?!"

Keith wanted to say he was. That he'd found him and everything would be fine. But just because he didn't want to look at the wound didn't mean it didn't exist.

He swallowed hard. "N-No, he's not," he managed to get out. "You guys need to get here. We need the castle here. It's… It's really bad."

"Where are you?" Shiro asked, sounding as calm as ever.

"On the Balmeran surface," Keith said shakily. "We crashed."

"I- I saw it," Hunk interjected suddenly, Keith only able to compare the sound of his voice to the equivalent of "white as a ghost." "Two ion canon shots, one from up here and one from their base down below. It- I was being chased- But Lance-"

So that was what had happened?

"We're on our way," Allura said. "Just stay where you are."

"Hurry," Keith said lastly, still trembling as he propped Lance up in his arms, holding him closer.

"Ugh…" Lance moaned again. His com wasn't working.

"Don't move, alright?" Keith murmured. "You're in bad shape."

Finally, those dark blue eyes opened enough to look around. They zeroed in on Keith, who's suit was the only thing in the whole cockpit glowing.

"K-Keith?" Lance muttered out. "Wha…"

"You're hurt, Lance. Just… The others are on their way. So just hold on." He knew their friends could hear him through the com, but he didn't dare not talk to Lance nor remove his helmet and cut off his own only means of communication.

"Holy… quiznak…" Lance said weakly, his complexion paler than Keith had ever seen it. It was a chalky kind of pale. The kind of pale that echoed of something far too close to a corpse. "I can't… I can't feel my legs…"

"You're hurt pretty bad," Keith explained. "But don't worry, Allura is on her way."

"We're trying to get there," the princess said suddenly. "But the Galra ships!"

Keith pursed his lips and didn't respond.

"Why can't I feel my legs?" Lance asked, his head moving some, as if to imply as much panic as he was capable of.

"You're hurt, Lance," Keith repeated. "Just… stay calm, okay? I'm right here with you."

Those blue eyes blinked weakly, remaining stricken for just a moment longer, before Lance somehow seemed to master himself. "You're not… You're alright?"

Keith tightened his hold around Lance. "Yeah," he said tightly. "I'm fine."

Lance's whole body seemed to expel in relief. "That's good."

Those blue eyes closed.

"Hey, hey, don't fall asleep," Keith said frantically, once again running his hand along the side of Lance's helmet and turning his head toward him. "Stay awake, Lance. Please."

His eyes fluttered open again. "I'm not sleeping…" he muttered. "Just restin' my eyes. You accusing…" He took a labored breath. "You accusing me of sleeping on the job?"

Keith managed a small, faltering smile. "I wouldn't put it past you," he settled for gently saying.

The corner of Lance's lips pulled into a smirk. "Rude." He coughed again, but it was weaker than his previous. "I saved your life… didn't I?"

Keith tightened his hold around the other boy. "Yeah," he choked out. "Yeah, you did."

Falling quiet, Keith watched as Lance's eyes struggled to remain open. But it appeared that even that small effort was painful for him. That, alongside the trembling, hitched breathing only worried Keith more.

"We're trying to get there," Shiro said through the com. "We're… We're coming."

Keith swallowed painfully.

"Hey," Lance said a few seconds later, his eyes closing fully as he spoke. "I wanna… I wanna tell you something."

"Tell me later," Keith said stubbornly.

"I gotta tell you now," Lance persisted, flinching some, as though he'd just been pinched with pain. "Just… Just listen, okay?"

"Tell me after you've been-"

"Shut up, Keith, and… _listen_ to me!" He coughed again and Keith could have sworn he saw blood lining Lance's lips.

He remained quiet, even through the long, painful breaths Lance had to take before he was able to speak again.

"This is… is gonna sound stupid," he finally started, "but I want you to- to know." He gulped like he was looking for air that just wasn't able to get to his lungs. "I know we don't always… get along. And I know you think… Well, it doesn't matter… what you think. I just…" He took another breath and Keith watched helplessly as a pain-spurred tear leaked down Lance's cheek. "I want you to know that… that I admire you. I… always have."

Keith's bottom lip trembled. "Lance…"

"Even if you hate me," he went on. "I… I always… always thought you were… pretty cool. Even if… if your hair is… stupid."

A broken smile pulled across Keith's face again, two of his own tears streaking down from his eyes. "I don't hate you, Lance," he assured. "I've never hated you."

They were _family_ —all of them. The only family Keith had had in a long, long time.

"Well that's… good to know…" Lance smiled again, though he didn't open his eyes.

"Lance," Keith murmured. "Lance, keep your eyes open, alright? Please, open your eyes." More tears streaked down Keith's cheeks, his lips and chin trembling as he tugged Lance flush up against his own chest. "C'mon, man. You gotta s-stay awake."

But Lance didn't have it in him to respond. Instead, his tried to take another breath, but it was caught somewhere inside him, choking him until he was coughing again. Blood splattered from between his lips and dribbled down his chin. His kept coughing, kept trying to breathe, but it was like there was no room for air.

"Lance!" Keith called helplessly. "Lance, just…" Just do what?

He couldn't _breathe_.

"Keith," he said abruptly, blue eyes popping wide as a few more tears streaked down his chalky cheeks. His breathing was so shallow that it was more akin to light panting. " _Keith_!"

"I'm here," he said, his hold on Lance crushingly tight. "I'm right here with you."

He could see the fear in Lance's gaze. The confused terror. Painted so vividly and so deeply.

"I can't…" Lance coughed again. "I can't… bre- Keith!"

"Shh, it's okay," Keith lied, unable to hold back a sob as he leaned down and set the forehead of his helmet against Lance's own. "Everything's gonna be okay."

"I can't…" Lance was drowning, his lips pulling into a pained grimace. "I'm…" His blue eyes locked with Keith's, his hand, which had previously been motionless at his side, coming up and abruptly taking hold of Keith's shoulder. He held on with surprising strength. "I'm _scared_ …"

"I'm here w-with you," Keith repeated. "I've got you."

More blood— _so much_ blood—dripped from Lance's lips. "Don't go," he begged, though his voice was so garbled that Keith could barely understand. "Don't… leave me…"

"I-I'm not leaving, Lance. I'm right h-here with you, okay? So you- you've gotta stay here too." Keith's voice was broken and desperate, teeth grinding painfully as he tried to fight through his tears. "Stay here with me, Lance. Just… Just _stay_."

But his skin was so pale, and his breathing so ragged and clipped. He shook in Keith's arms like a man desperately trying to stay afloat. But the waves were pulling him under and Keith wasn't enough to hold him up.

He wasn't _strong_ enough.

"Lance," he cried, still caressing the side of that broken helmet. " _Lance_!"

But those blue eyes had dimmed and any labors to breathe had ceased. His hand fell from Keith's shoulder, knuckles colliding with the metal floor.

He was heavier than he'd ever been, cradled in Keith's arms.

"L-Lance!" Keith called helplessly. "No, you've gotta wake up! You've gotta… You've…" But he knew there wouldn't be a response, even as that reality ripped his heart in two. "You've gotta come _back_ …"

Because, Keith knew, he was selfish. And he _needed_ Lance.

"Lance…" he begged. "Lance…

" _Come back…_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *punches you in the face with angst* Take that, Voltron fandom. THAT'S HOW I MAKE ENTRANCES! JUST ASK THE MIRACULOUS FANDOM!
> 
> I don't know when this story takes place--sometime after they rescue Shiro I guess *shrugs*


	2. Chapter 2

Lance was a dreamer. Both while he slept as well as during the day. It was an odd morning if he awoke without even some feeling of where his head had been the night before. Which was why waking up as he was—like he'd just risen from a cold, dark cave where nothing at all of consequence had happened—struck him as being odd, even if the notion was vague and floating in the back of his lagging thoughts.

Mostly, he just felt lethargic. As if he'd been recently submerged in day-old, room-temperature water. And while this might startle some people, he'd been in the healing pod enough times to know the familiar feeling, as well as dread the nausea that accompanied leaving it. How long had he been in for this time? And how long had it been since he'd eaten?

Oh the hunger, that was going to be the _worst_.

His brain wanted to wake up—he was "conscious"—but his body wasn't ready yet. Still, he had enough strength to open his eyes just a slit, even if the rest of him was so heavy that lifting a single finger seemed impossible.

He had only a few ticks to peer through the pod before his lids would fall shut again. His vision was bleary, but he tried to make out all that he could. The room was bright with that stale, hazy chill the castle was known for. But inside that, he could make out the silhouettes of a few figures. They stood before the pod, likely staring in.

Lance couldn't see well enough to make out their expressions, but he assumed they were ones of concern. Which he felt bad about. No one needed to be worrying over him, not when there were Galra to beat to a pulp. Still, he supposed that was out of his control for the time being. Once he was out though, he'd be sure to make it clear just how alright he was. For all his attention seeking (yes, he knew perfectly well he did it), concern wasn't something he liked having aimed his way.

He was fine, just like always. There were plenty of better places his friends could put their focus.

These were the thoughts that were still going through his head when he was eventually released from the pod. Like having the world slammed against him at full force, he toppled forward and likely would have ended up on the ground were it not for the strong arms that caught and held him up.

He smiled, eyes still mostly closed. "Look at you, Hunk," he muttered, unintentionally snuggling his nose into the larger man's familiar chest. "I didn't know you felt that way about me."

The line should have elicited plenty of groans and scoffs from anyone and everyone in the room. So when it didn't, Lance was left not knowing what else to say or even what to do. Not that he had a lot of options as far as the actual doing anyway. His legs were still shaky underneath him, so he was basically victim to whatever the rest of his teammates wanted to do with him. At least for a little while.

"Sit him down over here," Allura said from somewhere nearby, Lance unable to locate her as Hunk gathered him up like a limp noodle and carried him somewhere else in the room. Soon, he was being settled into a hard, cold chair, one he sank down into as there was little to no support.

And he was wearing the horrible pod suit? Ugh, there went his dignity. Again.

"Lance, can you hear me?" It was Allura once more. Forcing his eyes open, he glared out against the harshness of the lights. His vision gradually adjusted until he was able to see that Allura was crouching down in front of him. So was Pidge beside her, while Shiro and Hunk hovered behind.

They all looked far, far too worried.

"Loud and clear," he finally answered. "Your voice is music to my ears, Princess."

"All his vital are in order," Coran assured from somewhere to the left. "He should be 'right as earth rain,' all things considered."

"We can't be sure," Shiro said, sounding uneasy.

"What do you mean?" Lance asked, finally able to see the room clearly as he slowly pushed himself back in the seat some. He used his shaky hands to prop himself up, getting a better look around the room as he did. Keith was there too, standing quite a bit behind Shiro with his eyebrows furrowed.

"Take it easy," Hunk said, holding out a nervous hand as Lance continued to try and situate himself.

"I'm fine, jeez," Lance replied. "I was in the healing pod, wasn't I? And now I'm fine. Except for the huge wedgie this suit's giving me." That definitely should have gotten even a mild response. Yet, still, his friends stared on in concern. "…What?" Lance eventually dared to ask. "Is there something on my face? Is there something _wrong_ with my face? I like my face!"

"No, you look… you look the same as always," Shiro assured, finally managing a small smile.

"Then why all the doom and gloom?" Lance asked, finally having found his wits enough to be generally alert, though still a little shaky (he was hungry).

A long silence fell between them all, Keith making a point of looking at the floor as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Lance frowned. "Guys…?"

"You were dead," Pidge finally squeaked out.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Dead? No offense, Pidge, but I don't think even the healing pod could have fixed that." He wanted to laugh, but somehow the atmosphere of the room sucked any inclination right out of him.

"She's not wrong," Shiro agreed. "You were dead."

When Shiro said it, it was much harder to debate.

"It's because of the Balmera that you've… come back to us." Allura took over. "Based on the data we gathered while you were in the pod, it seems the Balmera released crystal dust into your system while you and Keith were in the blue lion. Somehow, doing so preserved your… your body and… and whatever else it is that makes you…"

"You," Hunk added.

Lance's lips fell open slightly.

"And so, when we put you in the healing pod, we were able to patch up your injuries," Allura went on. "With your body in working order, we think it was… was the crystal dust that brought you back."

Lance gulped. "Brought me back?" he asked, reaching up and laying a hand over his chest. "I was really… I was really _dead_?"

"By all scientific measurements, yes," Allura verified.

"Okay, wow…" It was information Lance didn't know what to do with. What did it even mean to have been dead only to be brought back? He didn't feel any different. Nor could he recall what it was like having passed on. But that seemed reasonable. Maybe there wasn't even anything to feel once a person was…

"You had us all so worried," Pidge admitted quietly.

Which was when Lance decided to kick things into high gear. Dead or not, he was fine as of then. Coran had said it himself that all his vitals were fine. Which meant that his teammates needed to get over being so worried—there was no point.

"Well, I'm fine now," Lance said, managing half a smile. "Aside from starving, that is."

"Oh, of course," Allura said, stranding abruptly and sounding far more accommodating of Lance than she ever had before. "You must be ravenous, being in the pod so long. I'm sure there's plenty in the kitchen."

"Wait…" Lance furrowed his brows. "How long have I been in there?"

There was a long pause before Shiro cleared his throat and answered. "Nearly a whole earth month."

Lance really did gape then, eyes bulging at the same time. A month might not seem long when one literally _came back from the dead_ , but in comparison to the time they usually spent in the healing pods, it was a long time.

"You were really messed up," Keith said stiffly, arms still crossed. Lance glanced over at him, not knowing what to say, and soon Keith was turning away. He left the infirmary, everyone else remaining silent on his heels.

Lance didn't know what to say, or how to react, and so he didn't. He went to his room and changed into his regular clothes, which had actually been gathering dust folded atop the metal cabinet in the back of his room. As soon as he was presentable and feeling more like himself, he went to the dining hall, where everyone else had gathered as well.

By the looks of it, breakfast had been served. The spread was generous—far more generous than usual—and a good chunk of it was made up of concoctions Lance had told Hunk he was particularly fond of. Nothing totally relatable to earth, but dishes Lance had a great appreciation for nonetheless.

"Wow, Hunk, Coran," because Coran had begun taking lessons from Hunk, "this looks amazing." Taking a seat between Shiro and Pidge, Lance didn't hesitate in getting started.

Keith sat across from him, twisting his knife through his food and managing only a short look in Lance's direction before he was focused entirely on his food.

"Yeah, we figured if we made the stuff you like, you'd be faster in feeling better," Hunk replied, smiling wide as he and Coran shared a knowing look.

"Well, aside from being hungry," Lance said through a mouth full of food, "I feel great. But I'm definitely not going to complain." He sucked a particularly long noodle between his lips before going in for more.

"Well that's a relief," Shiro started. "It's been difficult this last month without you."

Right, because he was the blue lion. Whether they wanted to or not, they couldn't form Voltron without all the pieces.

"Don't worry," Lance replied. "Blue and I are ready to get back in the game."

Shiro's eyebrows furrowed. "That's… not what I-"

"Oh! Blue is all repaired, by the way," Pidge interjected, leaning forward in abrupt excitement. "Between Hunk, Coran, and I, we got her all pieced back together."

Lance froze, his fork hovering over his plate. "What do you mean?" Why would they have had to work on Blue? The lions had the ability to fix themselves—that was one of the amazing things about them. There shouldn't have been any reason for Blue to need a helping hand, or hands—quite literally.

"Uh… well…" Pidge shrank back suddenly. "Do you remember what happened?"

No, he realized. No, he didn't. He had vague memories of falling, and of…

He looked to Keith, but the other boy was still staring at his plate.

"Not everything," Lance settled for saying.

"You got caught between two ion blasts," Coran explained, making an "x" with his arms. "Normally, such a blast would have just knocked a lion out for a while, but it was the pressure. You were hit with one from one direction and then another from below. The blasts had your lion in a head lock!"

"As a result, your lion's defenses failed," Allura continued. "If the blasts had come from similar directions, they might have just tossed you aside. But it was the way the blasts trapped you that resulted in…"

"Blue's head was nearly torn away," Keith said coldly.

"What?!" Lance dropped his fork, gripping the edge of the table as he looked between them all.

"But don't worry!" Pidge interjected quickly, before he could get himself too worked up. "Once we pulled Blue back together, she was able to heal herself again. She's fine now, I promise. We just had to… reattach her so she could do her own thing."

"But she's okay?" Lance asked seriously. "I have to go see her…"

"And you will," Shiro assured, resting a hand on his shoulder. "But first you need to eat."

"Coran and I would also appreciate it if you'd come back to the infirmary following your meal," Allura said, as graceful as ever as she ate. "While your vitals are fine, we want to run a few more tests. We've never… We think it'd be better if a few more in-depth diagnostics were done."

Lance huffed. "Alright. But I'm going to go see Blue first."

"You should go to the infirmary first," Keith cut in rather harshly. His tone had Lance's lips pulling into a displeased sort of scrunch, before he leveled a glare across the table.

"Pretty sure you can't tell me what to do," he replied petulantly.

Keith growled. "Don't be an idiot."

"Excuse me?" Lance hissed. He'd barely been awake an hour and already Keith was laying into him. Somehow, he was not surprised. "How about screw you. You're not the boss of me."

" _Lance_!" Keith shouted, which made nearly everyone at the table jump. And maybe he wanted to say something more, but the sight of Lance blinking back at him in shock was clearly enough to overcome his words. Instead, he slammed his silverware to the table, shoved his chair back, and violently pushed himself to his feet. Without another word, he marched from the room.

The table remained silent for a few more moments, before Lance's own frustration overcame his surprise. "What the hell is his problem?" he asked sourly, stabbing his fork into his food.

A few glances were shared between the others at the table, before Hunk cleared his throat.

"This last month has been really hard on Keith," Hunk explained quietly. "Give him a break."

"Hard on _him_?" Lance asked, still fuming. "I'm the one that was dead."

Pidge and Coran flinched at his flippant reference.

Shiro sighed. "Yes, you were," he tacked on. "And it was Keith who was there to watch it happen."

Which… Which Lance knew, now that he really thought about it. The last memory he had before he'd woken up in the pod was of Keith. He'd been staring up at the red paladin, afraid and in pain. The more he thought about it, the more he remembered. Which, he realized, was something he didn't want to do.

"You literally died in his arms, Lance," Hunk murmured. "To say he's been messed up about it is a bit of an understatement."

Which was reasoning that Lance didn't know how to respond to. Mostly because the longer he considered it, the guiltier he felt. Guilty because he, of all people, had made Keith feel bad. Keith, who barely tolerated him in the first place.

If only to appease some of that guilt, he did go to infirmary first, following breakfast, and remained there hours while Allura and Coran seemingly put him through every test possible. By the time it was over, his body ached from all the sensors they'd inflicted on him and he was all too aware of the fatigue that normally came along with being in a healing pod. Mostly, he wanted to go to his room and collapse into bed, but the desire to see Blue was too strong. Pidge had assured him his lion was fine, but he wouldn't be satisfied until he could see it for himself.

He took the long way to the hanger, walking down the steep sets of stairs until he was entering the bay from the side. Like usual, Blue was sitting in her position at the center of the room, looking like one of those temple guardians Lance had seen when he'd gone on vacation to Japan with his brother once upon a time. Her shields were up and her eyes were dim.

But as soon as Lance was about to reach out to touch the particle barrier, it fell away. Blue's eyes lit up and she stood. Her giant body creaked with metal on metal, Lance not the least bit wary as she turned her great, looming form and crouched down in front of him. Her head was so large that he could reach nothing but her chin, yet it was enough.

"I was worried after what Pidge said happened to you," he admitted, laying a gentle hand on the lion's great head. "But you'd tell me if you weren't feeling anything but your best, I know that."

The lion purred softly, a sound that would have likely terrified anyone who didn't know any better. And then—like a playful kitten—Blue bounced some on her haunches, causing Lance to grin.

"Tired of sitting in here?" he asked. "Yeah, I guess I don't blame you. Want to go for a spin?"

She jumped up and down, shaking the hanger, before opening her mouth and welcoming Lance inside. He skipped up into the cockpit, checking around to make sure everything appeared as it should before he plopped himself down in the captain's chair and gripped the control sticks. Immediately, the front screen lit up, Blue pulling her head up and releasing one light shake before she bounded toward the door of the hanger.

With the press of a button inside his lion, the hanger was sealed up tight before the landing door was sliding open. Practically jiggling in anticipation, Blue waited until the doors were completely open before Lance spurred her forward. She soared from the hanger, the vastness of space greeting them as the gravity controled ship dropped away behind.

Lance relished in it all. No, he wasn't the most gifted pilot—he knew that whether he was willing to admit it or not—but he'd never tire of it. The war aside, he considered himself lucky to have been chosen by Blue to be a paladin. He didn't have near the skills to offer as all the others, but he knew Blue adored him anyway. It was one of the few things he was certain about.

The feeling of being in her cockpit, of pushing forward through space in one of the most versatile, maneuverable ships ever created, it was pure elation. Nothing could stop the manic smile from crossing his lips, nor interrupt the flattered, warm thrum that echoed from Blue all the way up through him.

"You know you're amazing," Lance told the Lion fondly. "Don't act like me acknowledging it is something of a surprise." Leaving the castle of lions behind, he flew her through the wide, empty space awaiting before them.

Suddenly, Allura's voice came over his com. "Lance?" she asked. "Have you and Blue left the hanger?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry," he replied, some of the mood zapping away at being called out. "Blue was feeling kind of anxious, being cramped up. We won't go very far."

"It's fine," Allura assured. "I just wanted to make sure everything was alright. We're currently tucked away in a corner of the Migella system, orbiting a moon with gravitational interference that should, hopefully, inhibit any of Zarkon's attempts to find us. You should be fine so long as you keep the satellite in sight."

"Will do, princess," Lance replied, happy not to have been scolded. Peering out the side of his windshield, he looked the large satellite over. It was a dark gray color and appeared choppy upon the surface, the deeper crevices colored almost black. Whatever kind of gravitational pull the satellite had, it was more than capable of keeping their ship in orbit. It'd dragged in all kind of other things too—rocks, beat up ships, shards of things Lance couldn't even begin to describe. Like a giant trash heap, except that none of the "trash" floated aimlessly. Rather, it was kept in a still kind of orbit, nothing moving aside from how it slowly circled with the rotation of the satellite.

It made for a fun looking obstacle course, actually.

"C'mon, Blue," Lance murmured. "Let's bust a move through this garbage pile." Reaching out, Lance tapped a few buttons on his control panel, bringing up the lists of downloaded content Pidge had been nice enough to hook up for him from his phone. He went to his playlist (damn right he had a playlist in his lion), decided that some heavy bass pop would do the trick, and was just about to get his jam on while doing some super impressive flying when, lo and behold-

Red lion dropped out of space directly in front of him.

Finger hovering over the play button, Lance pursed his lips and instead supposed that blasting classic pop instead of talking to Keith probably wasn't the wisest course of action he could take.

"What's up, mullet?" he asked into the com. "Want to see who can get to the other side of this garbage pile first?"

"What are you doing out here?" Keith asked seriously, that he didn't rise to the bait only managing to spike Lance's irritation faster.

"What's it look like? Blue and I are stretching our legs."

"You shouldn't be out here."

Lance's nose curled. "Um, excuse me? You're out here. Besides, Allura already said it was fine. Not like I'm going to stir up a Galra fleet flying around some trash piles."

"I'm not worried about the Galra," Keith snapped.

"Well I am. There's one bothering me right now."

Keith growled.

"So, excuse me." Lance pushed forward, moving Blue to the side in an attempt to get around Red. Yet, his way was blocked once again.

"You should go back to the castle," Keith said simply.

" _You_ should go back to the castle." Blue tried to move around Red again, but the smaller lion kept getting in the way. "What the hell, Keith?"

"You only woke up from the healing pod this morning."

"So what? Look, I'm bigger than you and if you don't move, Blue's gonna kick you from here to Arus and back."

"I'd like to see you tr- NO! No, you need to go back to the castle. Now."

"Get out of the way, Keith."

"I'll drag you back if I have to."

"Yeah, okay." Pushing forward, Lance tried to duck down beneath Red, but the smaller lion wasn't considered the most agile for no reason. Still, Lance had size on his side and so decided not to stop. Instead, he slammed hard into Red, sending her soaring back until Keith's boosters put a halt to their motion.

"Don't, Lance."

"Then get out of my way. You're not the boss of me, even if Shiro seems to think you're all that and a bag of chips."

"What does Shiro have to do with this?"

Lance growled. "Nothing. Move."

"No. Not till you go back to the castle."

" _Move_ , Keith."

" _No_."

"What the _hell_ , man?!"

Shiro's voice came over the coms. "What are you two doing out there?"

Lance slumped his shoulders. "Great, space dad here to spoil everything." He might as well turn around after all. Shiro always took Keith's side and there was no point in trying to fight their leader. One serious look and Lance would feel like he'd kicked a kitten.

Blue made a startled snort. "Not that I'd ever _actually_ kick a kitten," he assured her.

"What?" Shiro asked.

"Nothing," Lance said through gritted teeth. "We were just coming back to the castle." Turning Blue around, he didn't spare Red a second glance as he as he shoved back the way he'd come. Flying up through the tunnel landing, he sent Blue a wave of apology and promised to get up extra early—before Keith—the next morning so they could go out. She wasn't too happy, but begrudgingly accepted the situation.

Taking the lift back from the hanger instead of the stairs, Lance walked through the door into the main transport hall just as Keith was stepping through his own. Casting the other boy a hard glare, he turned on his heel and stomped toward the elevator.

"Lance," Keith called behind, sounding like he was walking faster to catch up. Well, ha ha, Lance had longer legs. So he picked up his pace too, refusing to give Keith any leverage. And when he heard Keith break into a jog, naturally, he did too.

"Are you- Are you running _away_ from me?" Keith yelled up toward him.

"No! I'm- I'm exercising."

"You're running away!"

"I'm _jogging_ , thank you very much. If I was running, you'd never catch me."

"Lance!" Keith sped up again, and so Lance did the same. Unfortunately, there might have been some merit in pointing out that he'd only gotten out of the healing pod that morning after a whole month of doing nothing. Despite his stubborn determination not to get caught, the hallway was long and he could feel the fuzziness that lack of energy tended to bring on a person. He slowed despite himself, until he was assaulted by a wave of dizziness that had him leaning against the wall for support.

"Lance!" Which, of course, gave Keith the second he needed to catch up.

"I'm fine," Lance snapped, pushing Keith back lightly when he laid a hand on his shoulder. "Look, you were right, okay? Happy now?"

"Why are you like this?"

"Like what?"

" _This_!" Keith gestured to all of him. "I'm just trying to help."

"Well, if I'd stayed in my lion and walked back to my room, I wouldn't be in this predicament."

"And that's my fault? You're the one that was running away!"

"Because you were chasing me!"

"I wasn't- Okay, you know what? Whatever. I'm not going to fight with you."

"Right, and I'm altean."

"Oh, are you?" Keith asked, his tone like gravel despite the sarcasm. "I guess that doesn't make me the only half-alien here."

"I wasn't being serious…" Lance muttered, still breathing somewhat heavily as Keith came close and wound his arm around his shoulders. As if he needed help to get to his room. "I can walk, you know," Lance continued, trying to shove Keith off, but unable to do so with his head still spinning.

"Just let me help you, Lance."

"I think you've done enough."

"No, I haven't." He said as much with such a heavy ferocity that Lance had no idea how to respond. Instead, he stayed silent and allowed Keith to help him down the hall while the nausea cleared from his head. And even after it was gone, he let them keep going. It was getting harder, however, guilt once more twisting in his gut. Until, about halfway to their rooms, it became unbearable. Like a horrible itch he _had_ to scratch.

"Um, I think I'm fine now," Lance said quietly, coming to a total stop before shrugging Keith away. "Like I said, I can get to my room on my own."

Keith's hand was outstretched, like he wasn't the least bit convinced.

"Hey, c'mon," Lance continued, managing a small smirk before going so far as to wink. "Not like I'm dead, right?"

No, it wasn't the right thing to say. And Lance knew it as soon as he'd said it, flinching in tandem with the raw flash of pain that only barely tripped through Keith's expression. It'd been tasteless, even for Lance, and he should have known better.

He really was an idiot sometimes.

"Uh, sorry, that was… I shouldn't have said that." Lance rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "But, uh, yeah, I'm really not dead… anymore. I feel great, actually, so you don't need to, like, help me or anything."

"Lance…"

"Really. I appreciate, uh, this." He gestured vaguely around the hall. "Whatever it is that just… happened. And so I'm gonna go rest or whatever. You can, you know… do whatever it is you should be doing… instead."

Clearing his throat, Lance nodded once before turning to head off on his own.

"Lance!"

"Really!" He whipped back around. "I'm fine, Keith. I got this." He wasn't completely useless, after all. The least he could do was walk to his room on his own without a babysitter hovering over his shoulder, making sure he wasn't going to get himself into trouble.

Once more turning away, he didn't look back.

Rather, he all out refused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm... a lot of clashing things going on with these boys, me thinks.


	3. Chapter 3

Keith knew he was being over-protective and ridiculous. And he also knew that Lance didn't appreciate it. But… but he didn't know how _not_ to be. Every time he tried to convince himself he was being too uptight, he'd feel Lance's dead weight in his arms, and those lifeless eyes would flash before his own. Like he was haunted by the image, over and over and over.

He was barely able to sleep as a result. When Lance had still been in the healing pod, that was where he'd gone. In the dimmed glow of the infirmary, he'd sat in front of the pod and just… wasted time away. Sometimes he'd read, sometimes he'd take one of the handheld mind games Allura had given them. But none of that had ever held his focus for long. Not with Lance before him, looking so lifeless and limp and just…

Now that he was awake and well, Keith was both relieved, but also terrified—despite how ridiculous he knew the feeling was. Lance was more than capable of taking care of himself. He did fly a Voltron lion, after all. And though he was prone to getting into clearly avoidable trouble, he was serious when it counted.

Yet the irrational anxiety remained. Just the feeling of… of Lance taking his last breath and Keith was on his feet, needing some kind of relief from the memory. And now that Lance was out of the healing pod, it was that much harder to check up on him.

It was stupid, but for what seemed like the billionth night in a row, Keith was up and on his feet. Out of the habit he'd developed during the last month, he found his steps guiding him to the infirmary. It was where he'd found the most comfort during the nights when Lance's eyes had seemed dullest in his memories. But now… Now Lance was gone and as he stared at the shadowed, empty space where the pod had been elevated, he found no relief. Only further anxiety as his skin crawled with the sensation of Lance's weight. Weight he'd dragged from Blue and sobbed over in a scene he didn't want to revisit.

He knew he'd completely lost it following Lance's death. That he'd been inconsolable for days, to the point where Allura had had to put him under, lest he become ill with lack of sleep. He could barely remember those first few days with how distraught he'd been. He vaguely remembered being curled up in the corner of the infirmary, crying and frustrated and covered in Lance's blood.

No, he needed to stop thinking about it. Lance was fine. He was alive. He was breathing.

He was. He had to be. No, Keith couldn't see it for himself, but it had to be true.

Lance was in his room. Lance was fine.

Lance was _fine_.

"I wondered if I'd find you here." Shiro's voice cut through his panic, Keith both relieved and ashamed to have been found.

"You're up late," Keith managed to cough out, his voice rough with not having been used recently.

"Allura and I were discussing plans for the coming weeks," he replied. "You should be resting, Keith. You've been putting yourself under too much stress lately." Shiro had come up behind him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Part of Keith just wanted to agree and move on—act like nothing was amiss. But Shiro had known him long enough to read him. There was no escaping his old friend's observation, especially when he was so completely out of control of his own feelings.

"I can't sleep," he admitted.

"Still?" Shiro moved so he was standing in front, his eyebrows pulled together in concern. "Do you need me to get some pills from Allura?"

"No, that won't help." Keith shrugged him off, pacing a few steps to the side. "I tried them a few nights ago and they just made everything worse." Because he'd been far more victim to his nerves with his shields forcibly lowered by drowsiness. He'd been so upset he'd actually been sick. Not that he'd told anyone about that.

"Look, Keith, you can't… you can't keep going on like this. Lance is… Lance is fine. He's alive. And we're going to be back at full capacity soon."

"I know!" Keith didn't mean to snap, and so balled his hands into fists in attempts to control himself. "I don't know… I don't know what to do."

Shiro took a deep breath. "C'mon, let's sit down." He pulled Keith by the elbow, escorting him to a few seats that were still present around the edges of the infirmary. They sat silently, Keith unable to control the way his leg jiggled.

Would Lance sleep in? He hoped not. He needed to see him as soon as possible.

"Tell me what's going on," Shiro commanded, though his tone was understanding. "And don't bother beating around the bush. I'll know."

Keith looked around the room for a moment, before taking in a defeated breath. "I'm still having nightmares." Shiro had already known about them previously, but they'd both hoped that—upon seeing Lance alive and well—they'd stop. "I don't know what to do. It's like… like I close my eyes and he's there and he's _dead_ and there's nothing I can do and-"

"Keith, calm down," Shiro said calmly, once again resting a hand on Keith's shoulder.

"I _can't_!" Keith cradled his face in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. "I know it's stupid and irrational and- and _pathetic_!"

"Caring about your teammates isn't pathetic."

"But I can't get it out of my head. And when Lance was down here, I could be down here with him. I could see him and it was better. But now he's not here and I know that's a good thing, but I'm also scared because what if he doesn't get up in the morning and what if- if I'd known, maybe I could have done something. Maybe I could have realized sooner and-"

"Keith, stop, okay?" Shiro murmured gently, taking Keith by both shoulders and turning him so they were once again facing each other. "What happened to Lance is not your fault. You did everything you could, just as he did for you."

"I didn't _do_ anything!"

"You were there with him. That may not seem like a big deal to you, but I'm sure it means a lot to Lance."

Keith nearly scoffed. "You couldn't tell if you talked to him. I think he hates me now more than he did before."

Shiro smiled. "Well, in his defense, I think your behavior kind of surprised him."

Keith pooched his lips and turned away.

"You are being a tad overprotective, don't you think?"

"Someone has to be. That idiot is liable to get himself killed again."

"I think we're all liable to get ourselves killed. But stopping him from running exercises in his lion isn't going to be what does it."

"He was being foolish. He should have been resting." Preferably in a place where Keith could watch and make sure he was _breathing_. Like the common room. Or back in a healing pod where he couldn't hurt himself with his own dumb stunts.

"He's trying to deal with this, just like the rest of us. I think he's shaken by what happened too."

"He seems to be back to his normal self to me…"

"Well, that's the thing about Lance, isn't it? He likes to hide behind his bravado. Which might be why he responded so poorly to you." Likely Shiro had heard their whole argument. Perfect. "I don't think Lance likes having that _kind_ of attention."

"What 'kind?' He'll take any attention."

"Not the kind that focuses on things he doesn't want focused on."

In other words, Lance really, _really_ didn't like Keith being overprotective. Which wasn't exactly surprising—Keith had already acknowledged as much. But hearing it from Shiro only made his anxiety that much worse. How was he supposed to protect Lance if Lance wouldn't let him do it?

He'd been so heavy, cradled in his arms. And so, so pale…

"You seem to be a Lance expert these days," Keith muttered.

"Well, not really. I had a talk with Hunk about him this morning. Cleared up a few things."

"I think Lance might have some issues with you."

The statement clearly took Shiro aback. "What?"

Keith smirked, but it was good-natured. "I get the impression that he thinks you're playing favorites."

"Playing favorites?"

"Yeah. You must not have heard that part. Something about you thinking I'm all that and a bag of chips."

Shiro frowned. "Really." He then narrowed his eyes. "While that's interesting and… valuable information, don't change the subject." It was Keith's turn to frown. "I think you should talk to Lance about this."

"Yeah, right."

"I'm serious." Shiro's hold dropped away. "Maybe if you talk to him about how you're feeling, he won't be so antagonistic toward you. To be frank, I wasn't too worried about you and Lance's competitive relationship at first, but it seems to have grown into something else as of late."

Which Keith could agree with. It was strange, actually. He liked Lance, generally, but it was like Lance did everything in his power to make it impossible for them to get along. Granted, Keith wasn't exactly helping the situation. But what had once been a good-natured rivalry seemed to have developed into honest dislike. Or… something. At least on Lance's part.

Or so Keith wanted to think. But then sometimes he and Lance did get along. It was like for every small drop of friendship they secured, Lance came up with a whole bucket of dislike in response.

It was… very confusing. And exhausting.

"If you two don't sort it out soon, it might even begin to effect the rest of the team," Shiro continued.

"What am I supposed to say to him, Shiro?" Keith asked quietly. Helplessly. "Tell him that I have horrible, repeating nightmares about him dying and that I can't sleep because I'm too worried about whether he's going to be alive in the morning?"

Shiro leaned a bit closer. "Yes. That's exactly what you tell him."

Not the advice Keith was hoping for.

"We're a team working in close quarters all the time. Whether you tell him or not, it's going to come out eventually. You might as well bite the bullet and deal with it now, before it takes a harder toll on the relationship you two have. It's not exactly the most stable relationship in the first place. Besides, if one of you is willing to come openly first, it might do a lot of good in bringing the other one around."

"Maybe. But why does it have to be me?"

"Because I don't think Lance could ever feel comfortable being vulnerable around you, not without you being so first."

"Wow, you really have become a Lance expert recently, huh."

"Hunk and I talked for a really long time earlier. And he told me that ever since Lance met you, he's been trying to catch you."

"Catch me?"

"Catch up to you."

"About what? Flying? Lance isn't a bad flyer. I don't know why he's so worried about it."

Shiro's expression turned sympathetic—like he knew something Keith didn't—which was hardly appreciated. "You heard him yourself, Keith. He _admires_ you. And I think Lance is a bit more insecure than a lot of us realized. I think that, above everyone, you and I were—maybe still are—the most… 'uneducated' in really knowing who Lance is. So," Shiro raised his eyebrows knowingly, "if I'm going to put in the effort, you need to as well. Especially if you want to be able to lead this team."

Keith scowled. "You know, I hate it a little more every time you say that. I don't think anyone wants me to lead Voltron except for you. It didn't exactly go well during those few days when you were missing."

Shiro sighed. "Well, then this is a good step in the right direction. Hunk, Pidge, and Lance had all been working together before we ended up in space. Who knows, if you begin to get along with Lance, you might be able to form better relationships with Pidge and Hunk."

"Maybe I don't want to…" Keith replied petulantly, pouting.

Shiro laughed. "Now you're just acting like a little kid." Reaching out, Shiro poked his pooched bottom lip. "Like you always used to, before you got all emo and brooding."

"Hey!"

"Besides, I know you want to be better friends with the other three. You can't fool me. I get the impression that Lance is the center of their little group. If you and him can get along better, I'm betting Hunk and Pidge will open up a bit more too."

"This is stupid."

"This is what being part of a team is all about. Really, it's a continuous learning experience. I have some distance to make up too. And if I have to put in the effort, you know I'm gonna make sure everyone else does too."

Keith sighed.

"Talk to Lance. I think you might be surprised at the reaction you get." Patting him on the shoulder, Shiro stood and headed toward the door. Which left Keith to groan and sink in his seat. The discussion had distracted him some from his own nerves, but as Shiro disappeared, they slowly came creeping back.

Not the type to sit motionless, and especially not the type to let danger sneak up on him, Keith stood, aiming to do, just… anything.

The only question was "what?" Mostly his thoughts were distracted with Lance. Again. Talking to Shiro had calmed him enough to at least try and be rational, but that still didn't stop him from ending up in front of Lance's door, glaring at it in frustration.

The hall was dark with their "night" hours set, but Keith could still see well enough to pace some. He paced to his door, then back to Lance's, growing all the more frustrated with both himself and Lance, no matter how unreasonable that was.

Shiro had said to talk to him. Had basically said that he _had_ to. And the longer Keith paced, the more of an inevitability doing so seemed. It didn't help that his anxiety was telling him that if he took it upon himself to talk to Lance, he'd also know that Lance was alive.

Granted, he _knew_ Lance was alive, but that wasn't the point.

He just- He needed to see it. To be sure.

For science or something.

Christ, now he was using retro memes as a means of defense. Something had to be done.

Sighing, Keith narrowed his eyes in determination and marched up to Lance's door. He could do this. Like ripping off a band aid. Best not to go slow and wait things out. Quick and painless.

Or, at the very least, quickly painful.

Reaching along the side of the door, he buzzed the bell, holding it down for at least five seconds before releasing it. He tried to hear if something was going on inside, but the rooms were pretty well sound proofed.

He was just about to buzz again when he heard the locking mechanism release. A second later, the doors slid open and Keith was greeted with Lance in his blue pajamas and trademark facemask.

Keith hadn't ever been quite so relieved to see him.

"What… the hell… Keith," Lance muttered out dangerously, his eye mask askew and allowing for one blue eye to visibly glare. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Uh…" Keith furrowed his eyebrows and glanced around stupidly. "No, actually."

"Well I do!" Lance hissed. "It's _sleeping time_!"

Right. Keith knew that. He supposed he should have expected that Lance would be upset about being woken up. He was the one that was constantly going on about how much beauty sleep he needed. That aside, this was his first "night" since coming out of the pod, which likely meant he needed the sleep all the more.

Abruptly, Keith realized that Shiro probably hadn't meant that he should talk to Lance that very night. Yet, in his anxiety riddled brain, he'd thought it was best. Now he just felt bad.

"Uh, you're right," Keith replied, backing up a step. "I didn't mean to wake you." He'd seen that Lance was alive now—maybe that would make it so he could get through the rest of the night without worrying.

Lance pointed to the buzzer, still fuming. "You rang the bell! Of course you meant to wake me up!"

Well, that was true. But not _exactly_ true at the same time.

Keith sighed. "I know. I wasn't thinking clearly. Just… go back to bed."

Finally, the exaggerated glare dissipated from Lance's expression, only to be replaced with a thoughtful frown. "I'm awake now," he said. "You might as well tell me what you wanted."

Right, because no one was going to wake another in the middle of the night unless there was a reason. Granted, Keith could probably make some flippant comment about how he was just trying to bother Lance, but that wasn't really his forte. And based on how Lance's gaze was turning suspicious, he wouldn't get away with it anyway. Curse Lance, being smarter than he acted.

"Uh, it's… It's nothing." Keith _lied_. Because, well, this was a lot harder now that he was facing the issue. How did he even begin to tell Lance, of all people, the truth? Lance, who was always ready with some ridiculous comment and would probably make fun of him.

"It's not nothing—you woke me up." Moving his eye mask so it sat atop his head, Lance then crossed his arms over his chest. With both eyes, his suspicious thoughtfulness was that much more severe, and, thus, made Keith that much more uncomfortable. "What's up with you today?" Lance asked a moment later, Keith relatively surprised at the lack of mocking in his tone. Did he sound honestly concerned? "You've been acting super weird."

Keith hung his head, shoulders slumping. Like a band aid—just rip it off. Hopefully Lance wouldn't make it too painful. "I need to talk to you," he admitted quietly. "About… about what happened." Lance squinted in confusion. "About when you… died."

It was like a fog abruptly cleared from Lance's expression. Gone was the suspicion and replacing it was wide-eyed surprise. His lips parted a moment, like he wanted to say something, before he pursed them together and glanced pointedly to the side. His fingers tapped against his arms and Keith wanted desperately to know what he was thinking.

How was it that Lance, who usually acted so open, could be so good at closing himself off at the same time? Keith had absolutely no idea how to interpret him. Which wasn't really new, but did feel extra frustrating as of that moment.

"Right, of course," Lance finally said, tone sounding stiff and serious. "Why don't you come in. So we're not standing in the hall." He turned without sparing Keith even a look. Which only served to confuse Keith further.

Sighing to himself, Keith paused for just a second before trailing Lance into the room. The light flicked on as the door closed—probably at Lance's bidding—and it was then that Keith realized he'd never been in Lance's room before.

Not that it was anything to marvel at. Actually, Keith was a little surprised at the lack of… well, Lance. The room was just as empty as his own. Nothing on the walls, no decorations on the cabinets. Just cold and lonely, and revealing nothing helpful.

At least Keith had a few objects he'd collected from their many adventures. Lance didn't even have that. The room hardly seemed to be Lance's at all. Like the look he'd given only seconds before seemed to mimic the atmosphere—guarded and chilly.

This _wasn't_ Lance's room, Keith realized. This was just a place Lance slept. The notion was disconcerting and made Keith uncomfortable. No, his room wasn't anything to brag about, but it was _his_. This felt more like a hotel—like a place Lance didn't plan to spend years of his life.

Keith didn't understand…

"What did you want to talk about?" Lance asked. Keith nearly startled, reminding himself why he was there in the first place. Turning, he faced Lance, who'd sat down on the bed and was waiting with what Keith could only interpret as an extra-blank expression. But it wasn't empty in the sense that Lance was thinking of nothing. No, it was just closed off.

Lance was closed off. Which was so odd when considering how open he tended to be. But… but maybe Shiro was right. Maybe Lance really did keep more to himself than he let on, and maybe there were certain things he didn't want to talk about.

Well, that made two of them.

Keith hummed, not knowing where to start and a little ashamed of how his cheeks pinked.

Lance huffed. "Why're you up in the first place?" he asked, gesturing Keith up and down. "You're even dressed."

"I couldn't sleep," Keith admitted, supposing that was as good a place as any to start.

"Well, you didn't have to inflict that issue on anyone else…" Lance muttered childishly.

"Sorry."

"Stop saying that." Lance stuck out his tongue. "Makes me uncomfortable."

"What?"

"You, being all… civil. We're supposed to hate each other."

The corner of Keith's nose scrunched. "You told me yourself that you don't hate me, remember?"

Lance groaned and flopped back on the bed. " _Yeah_ , I remember." There was a pause while Lance closed his eyes. "Will you just tell me why you're here already?"

Keith growled. "I'm trying."

Lance stayed silent. Which Keith didn't consider helpful. Teeth grinding, he glanced up at the ceiling and tried to order his thoughts. But there was no order and no clarity and none of it made sense.

Stupid Shiro and his stupid ideas.

"I have nightmares," Keith finally admitted, cringing to himself as the words left his lips. Maybe this was going to be less like ripping off one band aid and more like ripping off a dozen. Yet, despite his painful admission, Lance said nothing. "Nightmares about… what happened, when you… you know." Still nothing. "Lance?" Keith grew abruptly irritated. "You didn't fall back asleep, did you?"

"No." Lance's tone was smooth as glass. "I'm listening."

"Well… that's it." A lie, but Keith was annoyed with Lance's lack of response. "That's the problem."

"And what do you want me to do about it?"

Initially, Keith jumped to the conclusion that Lance's comment was mean-spirited. But his tone lacked its typical sharpness and sounded only… honest.

"I don't know," Keith admitted quietly. "I just… Shiro said I should talk to you about it." Because like hell he wanted to deal with this conversation voluntarily.

Lance's eyes finally opened again, though he set his focus on the ceiling of the small alcove their beds rested in. "Do you always do everything Shiro says?"

"What's your problem with Shiro all of a sudden?"

"I don't have a problem with Shiro."

"Clearly, you do."

"You wouldn't have come to talk to me unless he'd told you to, then?"

Keith's eyebrows scrunched together. "I don't know. I'd probably have had to eventually."

"Why's that?"

"Because I can't _sleep_ , Lance!" Keith hadn't meant to shout, but this conversation was only growing more and more frustrating for him. His outburst pulled Lance back into the sitting position, but his expression was still guarded. "Look," he started anew, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can't sleep because I keep having nightmares about you dying and I don't know what to do about it. Shiro said I should talk to you, that's it. I'll stop bringing him up, if you have that much of a problem with it."

"I don't have a problem with Shiro…" Lance said weakly. "Sorry."

Another pause echoed between them.

"I don't know what to say," Lance eventually murmured. "I'm not dead. At least, not anymore. You don't have to worry about it."

"I'm not trying to," Keith replied sharply. "You think I like that this is happening? But I just…"

"…Keith?" Finally, Lance was looking at him. Finally, that wall was gone, Lance's gaze far _too_ open. It only made Keith that much more unconformable, and feel that much more vulnerable.

He looked to the floor. "I keep… thinking about it. And remembering when you… And I just… get… anxious."

"Anxious?"

"Anxious that maybe you're not… that you're not actually okay. I don't know!"

"Keith, I'm okay now. Nothing is wrong with me."

"That's not the point!"

Keith hadn't meant to shout again, but he was frustrated. Normally, Lance would have bristled right back at him, but this time he just shied away. Like Keith's outburst had actually hurt him. Which was… not great.

"It's like… like it's happening all over again," Keith said, making sure to keep his voice under strict control. "I can remember it all so clearly. The… the way you sounded, and how heavy you were, and-" Crouching down, Keith put his face in his hands. "And what your last breath felt like. I can't get it out of my head and I just get so…"

"Keith…"

"I get scared that I'm going to wake up and you're still going to be _dead_." The admission was like vomit coming up through him, pushing everything to the brim. It unsettled his own breathing and caused his lashes to flutter dangerously over the abrupt dampness lining his eyes. How many nights had he woken up with tears streaming down his face? How many nights had he woken up screaming and knowing, just _knowing_ , that it was real?

Too many. Too many…

"You're dead and there's n-nothing I could do to stop it. Y-You're not breathing and it's so _loud_."

"Keith, I'm not dead." Lance's voice was gentle and close. So close that Keith looked up in surprise, only to find that Lance was on the floor in front of him, reaching out a hand that he used to pull Keith's own from his face. "I'm right here," he continued, his lips pulling into the smallest of smiles. "And I'm breathing just fine." With Keith's wrist in his hand, he pulled it forward and set Keith's palm against his chest, the silky fabric of his pajamas soft to the touch. "My heart's even beating, right?"

"I know that," Keith admitted, trying his best to get himself under control and knowing he was failing. At least none of the tears had dropped. Yet. "I know…" But he was still scared. Even with Lance there, he knew that once they were separated, he'd grow anxious.

He didn't want to lose his family.

He didn't want to be alone again.

It' d been so hard when he'd thought he'd lost Shiro. And while he didn't know his teammates as well as he should, they were still important to him. They were everything to him. Even Lance.

"Hey, it's okay," Lance murmured when Keith reached up to rather violently wipe at his eyes.

"It's not! This is so stupid!" And embarrassing. He was sitting on Lance's floor, looking a mess, and crying. Yes, now he _was_ crying. Even if he was trying to wipe the tears away before they fell, he was _still_ crying.

"It's not stupid," Lance replied calmly.

"And I'm fucking crying," Keith continued in frustration. "In front of _you_!" The implication was pretty clear.

And he didn't feel any better when Lance _laughed_ at him.

So he tried to push him away. "Fuck you, McClain."

"Hey, hey, don't be like that," Lance said, sounding far too pleasant.

"You're laughing at me." Not that Keith was shocked.

"I'm not laughing _at_ you," Lance clarified. "I'm just… laughing because I don't know what else to do, okay? So stop being so butthurt."

"I'm n-not butthurt." Keith tried again to wipe his eyes, but there really was no point. The tears had already marred his cheeks and there was no hiding it.

"You're always a little butthurt about something."

Keith growled and tried to shove Lance off again. But it didn't work. Honestly, he didn't really have the strength to put much effort into it. Not with Lance so comfortingly close and the feeling of his heart beating beneath Keith's fingertips. Yet he was equally ashamed of his weakness, as well as vulnerability. Mostly he just wanted this whole situation to be over.

"Hey, it's really okay," Lance said gently, quite as though he could see just how torn up Keith was over the whole predicament. "You don't have to be embarrassed." A statement that didn't make Keith feel the least bit better. His inability to pull away—to retreat like he normally would—only broke him further, a few more tears leaking down his cheeks.

"Keith, it's _okay_ ," Lance repeated, his voice hardly above a whisper. "I'm right here." He'd released his hold on Keith's wrist and reached around until Keith was wrapped in his arms. Until he was being pulled even closer. Keith fell forward from his crouch onto his knees, face pressing into Lance's collar.

He was relatively surprised by the motion, and even more surprised when Lance's hold on him tightened. He was leaning up against the other boy, able to feel the warmth of his skin and how his chest moved steadily up and down.

Which made it easier, somehow, to give in. It was so comforting, just being close to Lance and _knowing_ he was okay.

Knowing that his nightmares were what was fake and _this_ was real.

He let his body fall forward completely, nose resting in the crook between Lance's collar and neck. Keeping one hand pressed between them against Lance's chest, he pulled his other up under Lance's arm and gripped the back of his shoulder.

He knew he was still crying, but it was somehow easier not to care with Lance's breath wisping across his hair.

"It's okay," Lance repeated, running a hand up and down Keith's back. "Everything's okay."

Even if it was just for a little while, Keith decided to believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel like this is going to make for an awkward morning...


	4. Chapter 4

This was not how Lance had expected to wake up. For one, he generally didn't make a habit of sleeping on the floor. And, for two, he wasn't usually covered in…

Keith.

Ugh, no! Drooling Keith to boot!

Lips curling in disgust, Lance considered his options. He didn't remember falling asleep after Keith had shown up in his room, but clearly he had. As it was, he was leaning against the side of his bed, Keith pretty much in his lap with his mulleted head resting atop Lance's chest.

He was snoozing away, lips parted just enough for a generous amount of saliva to sink through Lance's pajama top.

Well, Lance supposed it was nice he was sleeping. He really had looked horrific the night before. Granted, his face was currently red and puffy from crying, but not nearly so strained with stress. Small victories.

Still, while Lance was all down for the cuddle session (he loved cuddles with just about anyone—he'd even settle for Keith), his butt was numb from the hard floor and he really wanted to get up. Waking Keith was always an option, but, well… he didn't want to. If he'd really been having as much trouble sleeping as he'd said, then shouldn't he be allowed to sleep as long as he could?

Lance rolled his head back on his mattress and sighed.

Then again, maybe he could get Keith to the bed. Then he could snore away and Lance…

Lance could take Blue out before some paranoid Galra could make it his mission to stop him.

Yes, good plan, good plan. _Genius_ idea.

But how did he get Keith _to_ the bed without waking him? With Lance pinned underneath him as he was, there really wasn't any good option. Not any options that wouldn't potentially wake Keith. And the red paladin didn't exactly strike Lance as the heavy sleeping type.

Oh well. It was a chance he was willing to take for the sake of his numb buttocks.

Straightening some, Lance carefully leaned forward, cringing when Keith's head lolled. As gently as possible, he moved Keith to the side, until the other boy's shoulders were cradled on Lance's right, head resting on his upper arm.

He paused, waiting, but… Keith kept sleeping.

"Huh…" Not what Lance had expected. Either Keith was a surprisingly heavy sleeper or…

Or he really had been in that desperate need of rest.

Able to maneuver easier now, Lance reached his other hand down beneath Keith's knees, which were curled up in his lap. Once he was secure, he carefully pushed himself to his feet, lifting Keith bridal style.

"Wow, you're really light," Lance murmured, more than surprised at how little Keith weighed. Granted, being a paladin had put a bit more lean muscle on Lance's body, but not enough that hefting around a full grown (nearly full grown) man should be easy. "You should eat a sandwich," Lance continued, turning so he could gently place Keith atop the mattress. "Or maybe three."

Not that he should criticize. If Keith was skin and bones and muscle, Lance was just a taller version of the same thing. It was stressful, being a paladin. Especially when a good portion of the food that was provided didn't agree with their tastes. Even Hunk had lost weight, despite his constant experimenting in the kitchen.

Extra careful not to jostle Keith too badly, Lance laid him on his side in the sheets, still surprised that the other boy hadn't woken up. Well, he needed the sleep and though Lance defended his caution with wanting to get Blue out before Keith woke up, he was also just thankful that his teammate could rest nightmare free.

"Man, you need to take better care of your skin though," Lance muttered, bending over to get a better look at Keith's face. "Your pores are in sad shape." He'd have to have a talk about it later—because he knew Keith would positively love that.

Smirking to himself in a rather self-satisfied way, Lance turned quietly and went to the bathroom attached at the side of his room. Quickly washing his face and going through his morning routine, he was dressed and back out within twenty minutes.

Keith was still there, curled up on his bed and sleeping away.

Grinning, Lance shook his head before going to the door. Leaving as quietly as he could, he took a deep breath once he was in the hallway, stretching from his toes to the tips of his fingers reaching above his head. With a final yawn, he made his way down the hall, taking the elevator to the kitchen.

"Good morning!" he said as he entered, drawing the attention of all who were there. Pidge was sitting atop the counter, eating something goopy from a bowl with her fingers, while Hunk appeared to be in the middle of giving Coran directions on how to pour what looked like the same goop into tiny holders that resembled teeny, tiny muffins cups.

Space muffins.

"Hey, Lance!" Hunk said, smiling.

Pidge hummed, her finger in her mouth.

"Good to see you're up and about," Coran started, some of the goop dotting his mustache. "I admit, I wasn't expecting you'd be up this early." Lance was known for sleeping in on the days Shiro didn't have them up "bright and early" for training.

"I wanted to take Blue out this morning," Lance explained, swinging his arms as he did. "Preferably before babysitter Keith gets up and ruins all my fun."

"Keith's probably already up," Pidge said. "He's usually training this time of morning."

Right. That was Keith's normal schedule. Physical training before breakfast.

"Well, then I want to take Blue out before he can notice and get all prickly again," Lance reasoned, deciding to leave Keith's current position out of the conversation. Wouldn't gain him anything to bring it up, after all. Except questions.

"Again?" Hunk asked.

"Keith got all harried at Lance yesterday because he was trying to run some exercises instead of resting," Pidge explained, grinning far too deviously. "It was kind of cute, actually."

"It was not cute," Lance said, expression dropping. "It was practically harassment. Galra harassment. Gal-rassment."

"He was just worried about you," Pidge teased.

Lance glared at her.

"Breakfast won't be ready for quite some time yet," Coran interjected. "You've probably got some time to take Blue out before then."

"Cool, cool." Lance tapped his chin, looking between Hunk and Pidge. "You guys wanna come?"

"Sure!" Pidge jumped from the counter, setting her bowl aside. "I've been wanting to study this satellite's gravity anyway."

Lance raised a single eyebrow. "Hunk?"

"…Alright," he said after a second, before looking pointedly to Coran. "But remember what I told you about mixing too long. And _don't_ fill the cups up more than halfway."

"Aye, Aye, Kitchen Captain." Coran did a mock solute. "You will return to find your muhuffins expertly baked!"

Hunk appeared doubtful, but ultimately sighed in defeat and followed the other two from the kitchen. Suiting up (which was far more appropriate than what Lance had done the day before), they were all soon in their lions and zipping around the satellite. Pidge eventually set the green lion down on a piece of apparent trash and asked Lance to send out a sonic wave so she could collect data on the area. He did, so while she was analyzing, he and Hunk spent a few moments practicing their acrobatics (they played peekaboo and tag, hiding behind large pieces of garbage).

That was, until their fun was _rudely_ interrupted.

"Red lion approaching," Pidge said distractedly into the com.

Lance groaned and looked down at his radar only to realize it was true. "Ugh, what do you want, Keith? Here to be a wet blanket like usual?"

He didn't get a response. Which was, well, unexpected. Usually Keith always had something to fire back at him, even if it was just a blatant insult.

"Keith?" Hunk asked.

"He's probably sulking," Lance added, only assuming that something was, indeed, wrong when not even that got a response out of him.

By then, the Red lion was closing in, coming up on Lance's right side. Once there, she stopped and simply remained motionless, her yellow eyes fixed on Blue.

Lance frowned. "Keith?"

"Uh… I don't think Keith is there," Pidge said. "Green says that Red is empty."

"What?!" Lance squawked. "Well, what's she doing out here then?"

None of them could possibly know.

"Hey, you, Red lion," Lance turned so Blue was facing her. "Go back to the castle. You're… you're being bad. Bad kitty." Pidge and Hunk laughed. "Shoo, shoo, go home."

Red just kept staring at him.

"Maybe she was feeling left out," Pidge said through giggles.

But Lance was beginning to think it was something else. Mostly based on the growl Blue was sending through his head—like the nonexistent hair on the back of her neck was standing on end. She felt defensively annoyed.

When Blue's growl actually began to vibrate her whole body, Lance knew she was talking to Red directly. But that little piss-ant had the nerve to turn her head away, snobbishly acting like she didn't understand.

Blue grew more irritated. Which only began to grate on Lance.

"Just ignore her," he finally settled for saying, his words directed at Blue. The others didn't object, however, and so they silently decided to keep up with their activities whether Red was tagging along for the ride or not.

Or they _would_ have, if she wasn't following Blue at the very tip of her tail.

"Dude, Red is trailing you like a shadow," Hunk eventually said, hovering nearby.

"I know!" Lance said in frustration, trying to zoom away. But Red was easily able to keep up, being the fastest and most agile. It was clearly getting to Blue as well, who was growing more and more defensive with every second that passed.

"It's like she's…Oh…" Pidge began to chuckle—a chuckle that evolved into a full-blown laugh.

"What?!" Lance snapped.

"She's… She's _babysitting_ you. Probably for Keith. You know how protective she is of him."

"She probably knows how worried he was about you," Hunk added.

Lance fumed. "What the flying fuck?! Are you shitting me?!" Whipping Blue around, he nearly head-butted Red in the process. "Go home, Red!" he yelled, knowing that not only was Blue telling her the same thing, but she likely heard him through the coms (if the lions could hear—maybe they couldn't and just went off the feelings of their paladins. Well it _didn't matter_! He was going to yell and rant and rave anyway!).

"Do you really think you should be shouting at a temperamental, destructive space lion?" Hunk asked. "Why don't you just let her follow you around? It's kinda cute, really."

"Stop saying anything about this situation is cute!" That was the second time it'd happened in the course of the morning. "Go home, Red! Go home right now!"

Allura's voice came abruptly over the coms. "What is all the shouting about?"

Lance released a strangled snarl. "Where is Keith?! Tell him to call his stupid lion back to the ship!" Blue hummed in agreement, Lance hoping that Red knew just how stupid and ridiculous they both thought she was.

"I noticed that Red had left the hanger without Keith," Allura replied. "Shiro and I both went looking for him, but we can't seem to find him anywhere." That was because he was sleeping in Lance's room! Despite his irritation, however, Lance— _again_ —couldn't bring himself to reveal that bit of information. "Is she causing any trouble?"

Lance's shoulders slumped in defeat. "No, not really…" The words felt like nails in his mouth, barely able to escape his clenched teeth. Keith should be thankful he had a lot of patience and wasn't outing his situation from the night before. Granted, that would be pretty shitty, but Lance was about fed-up with this whole "watching every move he makes" bullshit.

"She's just stalking Lance and Blue, that's all," Pidge explained.

"Stalking, as in, aiming to attack them?" Allura asked in alarm.

"No!" Pidge corrected quickly. "Just following them around like a mother hen or something."

"Oh." There was a slight paused. "Well that's cute behavior."

"It's not cute!" Lance claimed yet again, but his words weren't taken to heart by anyone. He spent the next half an hour zooming around the large rocks and trash pieces with Hunk, Red literally on his tail all the time. It made the experience rather unenjoyable for Blue, but Lance promised her he'd talk to Keith about the situation and get it taken care of.

That had settled her annoyance some.

Upon heading back to the castle, Red finally left them, returning to her hanger once it was clear Blue was aiming for her own. The exercise wasn't wholly ruined (hardly ruined, really), but Lance was still bothered as he shed his suit in the armory and headed to the dining hall. Mostly for Blue's sake. She'd taken Red's behavior quite personally and, well, that just wouldn't do.

He was the last to arrive, everyone present _including_ Keith. Lance sat himself down in his regular spot right across from the red paladin, not bothering to subdue his glare. Keith was quite focused on the tabletop, however, and so wasn't victim to it. Until Lance grew impatient and slammed his hand down.

A few of the others jumped, Coran nearly dropping the food he'd been bringing in.

Keith barely peeked up at him.

"You need to have a chat with your lion," Lance said strictly. "She doesn't need to follow Blue and I around like some kind of… I don't know, supervisor!"

Keith's eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"Your lion," Allura interjected, taking one of the less burned muffins Coran had managed to make. "She left the hanger this morning without you and, apparently, spent the entire time these three were out," she gestured to the remaining Paladins, minus Shiro, "following Blue around."

"We suspect she was babysitting for you," Pidge added.

Not that her commentary really helped the situation. At first, Lance had been prepared to lay into the situation further, but the words died on his lips when he saw the horrified expression that had dropped over Keith's expression. His lips had parted, eyes widening, before a deep flush assaulted his whole face and neck.

He looked helplessly between them all before lastly focusing on Lance. "I'm so sorry," he said breathily. "I'll talk to her. It won't happen again." As if he couldn't get away fast enough, he stood and walked off, no one knowing quite what to say in response to his reaction and so unable to stop him before he'd disappeared through the doors.

"But… what about breakfast?" Coran asked helplessly.

Frowning, Lance remained oddly silent for the rest of the meal. The rest of the day too, for that matter. No, the way Keith had reacted to being called out on Red hadn't been how he'd anticipated things would go. Clearly, no one else had expected Keith to duck out the way he had either, based on the questioning looks that had been tossed around the table. Normally when Lance prodded at Keith about anything, he just got fired up and they argued.

He didn't… run away.

The more the day wore on, the guiltier Lance began to feel about the whole thing. He wasn't positive how, but he was sure everything was his fault. One way or another, it usually was. No one had seen Keith following breakfast, which only made everything worse and hammered further that something was wrong. Keith liked to keep to himself, but he didn't usually avoid people by staying clear of places like the training room or the dining hall. Granted, they were all relaxing to give Lance more time to "recover" (time he didn't need), but Keith would usually continue his own personal training.

Yet, he was nowhere to be found.

Lance wondered at a few points if this was all tied together with the night before, but considering that meant he had to think like Keith to try and understand, and that just hurt his brain. He'd rather Keith just say something if he was, what, upset? Lance didn't know. Not like anything had happened. They'd fallen asleep—big deal. Lance had fallen asleep in Pidge and Hunk's rooms too. Not usually _with_ them, but that wasn't anything to freak out over either.

But maybe Keith wasn't freaking out. Maybe… maybe he was angry? Did he think Lance should have woken him up? Or not allowed him to fall asleep in the first place? Not that he'd been able to control that anyway, having dozed off himself. Still, it was a possibility. One that only managed to annoy Lance, along with the rest of his thoughts. Keith had been the one to come to him, after all. The situation was just as much his fault as it was Lance's.

These were the notions that circled in and out of his head all day, giving him no rest and not even allowing him the peace to sleep. Instead, he laid awake in bed, face mask and all, growing only more and more impatient with Keith's behavior.

Stupid Keith.

Eventually, he was getting up, thoughts buzzing too loudly to give him peace. Grumbling to himself, he slipped his eye mask up onto the top of his head and headed out into the hall. Maybe a late-night snack would calm him down a bit. Or something. He knew Pidge would tell him that eating before bed would do the exact opposite of what he wanted, but he didn't care. It was something to do, in any case.

Maybe he could go hang out with Blue after that.

With this itinerary in mind, he shoved his slippered feet into the kitchen, only to have all his plans vacuumed out into space.

Why? Because Keith was there.

Of course he was.

Still dressed and very much awake, he stood at the kitchen counter, looking puzzled as he stared down at the leftovers from earlier. Which, Lance supposed, made some sense, seeing as he'd skipped every single meal being a pouty baby (most likely).

"Look who it is," Lance said as he strolled in. "It's Brooding McBrooder."

While Keith wasn't the type to jump, he did look up quickly enough to be considered surprised. And as soon as he caught Lance's gaze, he glanced away again. All the while, a light peppering of pink assaulted his cheeks.

The silence caused Lance to falter a step. Where was the typical fire? Where was _Keith_?

"Alright, that's cool," Lance started again, heading around the counter to the fridge. "Don't say anything then. We'll just be silent for eternity."

"I doubt that's possible with you in the room."

"Zing! And he's back!" Pulling open the fridge, Lance began lifting the lids to every dish sitting inside, until he found the one he was looking for and pulled it out. "What are you doing here anyway? Can't sleep or just hungry because you were too busy avoiding everyone to eat?"

But Keith didn't even growl. Instead, he sighed, sounding honestly distressed, and Lance decided that maybe he should back off a bit. They were rivals, after all. Not… not enemies. So Lance stayed quiet, pulling the lid completely from his bowl before sticking his finger in and beginning to eat at the leftover frosting from the space cake Hunk had made earlier.

"Are you just going to stare at me, then?" Keith asked. Which was a viable question seeing as Lance had remained by the fridge, taking in a clear view of Keith's backside.

Well, not his, like, "backside" backside. Like, his bu- HIS BACK! HE WAS STARING AT HIS BACK!

"Are you going to keep avoiding me?" Lance countered.

Keith sighed again and a few long seconds of silence passed between them. Until Lance popped his finger loudly from between his lips, which seemingly caused Keith to shift his weight from one leg to another.

"I'm sorry," Keith eventually said, head bent toward the counter. "About last night. I didn't mean to… It was stupid and I'm sorry."

Lance cocked an eyebrow, though Keith couldn't see it. "Is that why you've been staying clear of everyone? Or… or me I guess, if that's the issue."

Keith didn't respond.

Setting his bowl aside, Lance cracked his knuckles and then his neck, trying to wrap his head around how best to handle the conversation. Who would have thought that he'd be in this situation with Keith? Where he was, what? Concerned about his emotional wellbeing?

Whatever, that wasn't the point. Keith was his teammate and he'd do anything for all of them.

Moving forward, he came up beside Keith before turning and hopping up so he was sitting on the counter. Legs swinging, he watched Keith for a moment—who was refusing to look at him—and tried to think of what he should say.

Ultimately, he decided that honesty was probably best.

"I don't get why you're so worried about it," he admitted, relatively surprised at how easy it was to be _nice_ to Keith. Two nights in a _row_. "I mean, we've all got our issues. You think there haven't been nights where I cried myself to sleep?"

This seemed to grab Keith's attention, dark eyes questioning as he glanced up at Lance.

"We're out in _space_ , fighting a _war_ ," Lance continued, peering up at the ceiling as he did. "I haven't seen my family in almost a year. They're probably worried sick about me. And I know Hunk misses his family. We all know Pidge does. And, seriously, you think Allura and Coran don't break down sometimes? Their whole planet and everyone they knew is fucking dead. Like, that's…" Lance shook his head, looking back at Keith again. "And you're crazy if you think Shiro doesn't have nightmares. That guy has nightmares while he's _awake_."

"He has PTSD, Lance," Keith said dryly.

"Yeah, well, by the time this is over, we're all gonna have our fair share too. Most of us already do for fuck's sake."

"You seem to fair pretty well most of the time."

Lance snorted. "I guess that is what you'd think…"

Keith frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that just because not all of us are serious and brooding like you, doesn't mean we're not messed up too. We all feel shit, Keith. Even if some of us are better at hiding it than others." Lance raised his eyebrows knowingly.

"What exactly are you implying?"

Lance laughed, before shaking his head and moving on. "Look, the point is that sometimes things are shitty and so we're all gonna have bad days. That's just the way it is. We're all a team out here—we're all each others got, really, so when one of us is going through something rough, we have to be there for each other. I'm not gonna criticize you because you needed to get your cry on. Even if I do hate your guts."

"You _said_ you didn't hate me!"

"The words of a dying man can never be trusted."

"You said you _admired_ me."

"I was just trying to be nice. You had to watch me die so I thought I'd make it a good experience for you."

Keith rolled his eyes and became somber. "Yeah, okay. Well, you didn't succeed."

Lance stared at him for a moment, before leaning over and nudging Keith's shoulder with his elbow. "Hey," he said deviously, grinning. "You wanna do something _fun_?"

"With you? No."

"Oh c'mon, it'll be great. You know, a bonding moment. Like when you saved my life and cradled me your arms that one time."

"You're so annoying."

"It's okay, I cradled you in my arms for hours last night. You drooled on my shirt. It was an experience."

Keith pinched the bridge of his nose.

"But for realzies, I have an idea." Jumping down off the counter, Lance backed up a step and raised his hands until he could frame Keith's face inside them. A face that was looking at him with dead, unamused eyes. "I noticed this morning that you are in serious need of some… facial attention. Your pores are a disaster."

Keith glared. "Fuck you."

"But it's not something that's irreversible," Lance pressed on and pointed to his own masked face. "Allura gave me this really great altean recipe that Hunk makes me every few weeks. I mean, obviously it's not going to be an overnight miracle, not with how much you've clearly neglected your skin, but with some work, we could-"

"No." Keith turned away.

"Oh, c'mon, please?" Lance bounded up beside him, hands clasped together beneath pooched lips. "It could be fun! Hunk and Pidge never let me play with their faces! And Allura, well, she's already perfect."

"No," Keith said again.

"Ugh, you're no fun. All my skill, going to waste out here in space."

"Your skill?" Keith asked, sound incredulous.

"Yes." Lance placed a defensive hand over his chest. "I happen to be very knowledgeable about skincare and cosmetics. My mother used to have a job in a local beauty parlor and she'd bring home all kinds of things." While Lance's speech had initially been a snotty sounding explanation, it quickly deteriorated into something more poignant despite himself. "It was a game we used to play—she'd give me the stuff and I'd 'do her makeup.'" He abruptly cleared his throat. "And I got pretty good at it, thank you very much."

"Doesn't mean your messing with my face," Keith persisted. "I like it just the way it is."

"Agh, fine." Lance pouted. "Party pooper…"

"What are you, five?"

"No! But I try to have at least a bit of fun every once in a while, even if the rest of you would rather be miserable all the time."

Keith frowned. "I'm not miserable."

Yeah, well, Lance was sometimes. Not that he was about to admit as much. "Coulda fooled me," he settled for saying, heading back across the kitchen to where he'd left his bowl. Abruptly, the frosting didn't sound all that good, not with his grandmother's home cooking suddenly filtering through his thoughts.

He shouldn't have talked about his family—that always made things worse.

"Where're you going?" Keith asked after Lance had put the frosting back and headed around the counter.

"Back to bed," he said simply, intending to only glance over his shoulder quickly. The look on Keith's face—no matter how fleeting—stopped him in his tracks, however. "Why?" he asked, keeping his attention trained on Keith even as the uncertainty vanished. Keith's uncertainty and…

Was it too far of a stretch for Lance to label it panic?

"I was just…" Keith started, the words dropping away before he pursed his lips, took a huffing breath, and looked up again. "I just wanted to tell you that Red won't bother you anymore. I took care of it."

Lance blinked. "Oh… Alright, thanks." He watched Keith for a moment longer, even after those dark eyes were torn from his own yet again. Similarly to how he'd been plagued all day with guilt he couldn't explain, he was assaulted by the feeling again. That, and a certain degree of helplessness. He wanted to say something to Keith, but he honestly had no idea what.

"I'll just… see you in the morning then," Lance settled for saying, watching as Keith silently nodded.

Leaving the kitchen felt like walking through wet concrete.

Sleep didn't come easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor babies. They're talking, but not in quite the direction they need too. Though what they've managed to discuss isn't really bad either XD
> 
> Also! About their swearing (because I've gotten a few messages about it)--Quiznak is the altean equivalent of fuck, so yes, they swear a lot--especially Lance. They're at war and profanities are likely oftentimes used. Therefore, I will write them in ;D


	5. Chapter 5

Keith was exhausted. And while he could go a great while without regular sleep, his limits were really starting to get pushed. Yes, the night before last, he had indeed managed to catch a few winks in Lance's room. But it'd only been about four hours. And the following night he got _none_.

He was nearly to the point of asking Allura to put him under again, but his anxiety was preventing him from pursuing the idea. If he was forced to sleep, then he couldn't keep an eye on Lance. And while he _knew_ —because he told himself this _time_ and _time_ again—that Lance was perfectly _fine_ without him, it didn't alleviate his nerves.

He hated it. He hated the whole situation. He hated how irrational it was and that it was messing with everything he did. He hated that it was straining what little relationship he had with Lance in the first place. He hated that his feelings were transferring to his lion.

He just wanted it to stop.

He wanted to _sleep_ …

"And, uh…" Shiro's voice tapered off, Keith hardly paying attention to the group meeting going on around him. He was leaning atop the table, his head cradled in his arms as his bleary eyes stared out at nothing. "I was thinking we'd get started on training again today, but… but maybe we should wait another day." Keith didn't notice that Shiro was looking at him, brows furrowed in concern.

"Why?" Pidge asked. "Lance is fine."

"Yeah, I'm fit as fi- _act_ ually!" Nor did Keith notice when Lance took in his slumped form. "Maybe Shiro has a point? I mean, I'm not totally back to my, uh, regular self. I wouldn't complain about one more day off."

"Of course you wouldn't…" Pidge muttered and Lance glared at her.

"I think it's a good idea," Allura agreed, looking uncertainty between Shiro and Keith. "One more day of rest and then we'll get back down to things. But, everyone, use this extra time to get back in order. We can't afford to be lagging, not now."

Keith sort of heard what was being said, but mostly he was thinking about how nice it'd be if he could sleep. And not have nightmares. Yet the possibility seemed light years away. A reality that nearly had him in exhausted tears.

How was he supposed to keep an eye on Lance and make sure he wasn't having complications from _dying_ if he couldn't even keep himself healthy? He knew just as well as anyone how necessary sleep was.

He was failing the universe.

And Lance.

But _sleep_ …

"Keith?" Barely moving his bloodshot eyes to the side, he spotted Allura crouched down beside him. "I think you should take these, okay?" She put the pills on the table in front of him, which only earned her a sneer.

"No."

"Keith, I think Allura's right," Shiro agreed from his other side. "You're going to kill yourself if you don't get some rest."

"No," he said again, sounding extra stubborn. The pills wouldn't help. They'd make everything worse. His anxiety would spike, he'd get more chills than he already had, and he _definitely_ wouldn't get any sleep.

"Is- Is he alright?" The question was asked by Lance. Good. He was alive. What a relief.

Keith wished he could take his paranoia and wring it till it died.

Like Lance died in his arms. Super. Great. Back to square one.

Groaning, Keith turned his head so he was facing the table, trying all he could not to break down further.

"Do you think I should force him under like I did before?" Allura asked quietly, like she was trying to be discreet despite the fact that Keith could hear her loud and clear. Not that he had the energy to stop her if she did decide to inject him with whatever stuff she had preeviously. He wasn't going to _ask_ , but he couldn't stop her.

"I don't know that we have a choice," Shiro replied, his familiar hand landing gently at the back of Keith's head before he lightly petted the hair there. "He's going to kill himself if he doesn't get some sleep soon. _Real_ sleep."

"Wait, what do you mean, force him under?" Lance again. "What are you gonna do?"

Allura took a deep breath. "After you were put in the healing pod, Keith was inconsolable. He couldn't sleep or calm down. We could hardly touch him." Keith did not want her to be telling Lance these things. But he was just too tired to do anything about it. "So we did the only thing we could. We injected him with an altean serum that forced him to sleep."

"He slept for almost three days," Shiro added.

"Well, I think the dosage might have been a little high for a human. I'll adjust it this time."

"Is it dangerous?" Lance asked.

"No, but it's also not a permanent solution," Allura explained.

"He must be getting _some_ sleep," Shiro said. "It's been nearly a month and he's still going. But I think it's just been too much now. He might need the extra help again."

"Yeah, but… what about after?" Lance asked. "He can't…"

"No, he can't stay like this. Something will have to be done." Allura sounded almost strict and if Keith had been seriously listening, he might have felt guilty. As it were, the only voice he was really focusing on was Lance's.

"But for now, this is what we can do," Shiro decided.

Allura sighed. "I'll get the serum."

"W-Wait!" Lance's voice was like a knife through Keith's consciousness. Sharp, but disabling in a way that, maybe if he kept talking, it'd cause Keith to pass out. "I might… I have a different idea." Pause. "But, um, it's kind of… Can I just… Can you let me talk to him?"

"Lance, this isn't something we should mess around with," Shiro made clear.

"I know. But I have an idea. So… I just need to talk to him. Alone."

There was more silence. Keith didn't care.

"What are you going to do?" Shiro eventually asked.

"It's a, uh, it's a secret."

"Lance…"

"Look, if it doesn't work, I'll come get you guys right away. But it's better than making him dependent on that serum or whatever, right? Just… lemme try."

Two simultaneous huffs. "Fine," Shiro agreed. "But don't make light of this, Lance. This kind of stress can kill someone." Shiro's hand left Keith's hair, which seemed to welcome a chill down Keith's spine.

"Yeah, I know. But I think this will work."

Keith didn't know what kinds of looks they exchanged, but soon the doors into the dining hall were zipping open and then closed. Where was everyone else, Keith wondered? Had the already left? How long had he been there?

"Hey, Keith." Lance's voice was suddenly close. Right beside him. "We got to do something about this, alright? You look like death."

"I know what death looks like," Keith mumbled.

"Yeah… Yeah I know you do." Was that Lance's hand on his arm? Being so careful in trying to pull his defenses away? Maybe he'd let him. Maybe he didn't care about that either. "I have an idea, okay?" Lance continued, once Keith's arm had been lowered to reveal his face. "You slept the other night, right? So let's try and do that again."

Keith didn't even know what that meant.

"Just… trust me," Lance went on. Keith liked his voice like this—so calm and even. So comforting. "We're gonna get up, alright?"

"I'm not a child, Lance," Keith managed to snap anyway, despite how much he wanted Lance to keep talking. "You don't have to treat me like one."

Lance pursed his lips. "Fine. Get off your lazy ass and come with me."

"No."

" _Keith_! Don't make me carry you. Because I will." It sounded like a legitimate threat.

"Go ahead and try," Keith replied, once more shielding his head with his arms and wishing he'd just slip unconscious.

"You prickly fucker," Lance muttered. "Fine. You asked for it." Without warning, he yanked the chair back from the table. Keith tried to react, but his reflexes weren't what they should be and he simply wasn't fast enough. Before he could object, Lance had crouched down and grabbed him around the waist. With a simple tug and a lift, Keith was abruptly upside-down and hanging over Lance's shoulder.

Blinking against his fatigue, he watched as the table got further away, one of Lance's arms still securely around his waist while the other was wrapped around his his knees, holding him in place.

"Put me down," Keith demanded as they headed through the doors and out into the hall. He tried to hit Lance in the back, just for good measure, but barely had enough energy to get in a single slap.

"Oh my!" Lance said dramatically, voice jumping an octave. "You're such a fierce, intimidating paladin! Whatever will I do?! I'm so _scared_!"

Keith grunted. "You're annoying."

"So you say," Lance replied, voice back to normal, "but I'm putting in a lot of effort here, so you better appreciate it."

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, yeah, fuck you too."

Keith wasn't sure where they'd ended up until the world was abruptly being turned right again. With a thump, he was dumped onto a mattress, the room around him resembling his own. But it didn't have the little things he'd collected, so he eventually deduced that they were in Lance's room.

"No, no, no," Lance said sternly, shoving Keith back down into the mattress when he tried to get up. "You're staying right here."

"No," Keith said simply, as if the word could do his fighting for him. He didn't have the strength to rise up against Lance's hand on his chest however, the weight seeming heavy as he was pressed back into the bed.

"Just stay put," Lance scolded. "And close your eyes, for fucks sake. Try and put in a little effort here."

Keith was staring blearily up at the ceiling, tired eyes nearly watering.

"Keith?"

"Hmm?"

"Close your eyes and go to sleep."

"I can't sleep, Lance," he said roughly. "That's the problem. Being in your room isn't going to change that."

"You slept in here the other night."

Keith sighed and thought that, if he had the energy, he might have blushed. Unfortunately, not even his blood seemed to have any inclination to move properly.

"Just get Allura," he said, defeated. He was so tired. "I don't know why I could sleep the other night, but I doubt it's repeatable." Things like chronic nightmares—PTSD, he reminded himself (he wasn't delusional after all)—weren't that easily dealt with.

"It's worth a try."

"No, it's not."

Abruptly, Lance's hand lifted from his chest. Shifting his blurry eyes, Keith stared down at him, though he didn't try to get up again. Lance looked displeased, a frown creasing his lips and his brows pulled together in irritation.

"So you'd rather just have Allura shoot you up with altean drugs? Because that _is_ a solution?"

"It's more rational than whatever you're doing."

Lance pursed his lips. "I'm trying to help you, Keith," he said stiffly. "Without making you dependent on something that could, in the long run, make things worse. So maybe instead of being a complete jerk, you should try and make it easier."

"Make what easier?" Keith asked. "Being in your room versus anywhere else isn't going to make a difference."

"Stop being thick. You know perfectly well that I didn't bring you here because 'my room' is what's going to make a difference."

Reasoning to which Keith couldn't find a response. Even if his brain had been functioning at typical capacity, he wasn't sure he'd know what to say. So, instead, he turned away and tried to ignore the exhausted tears that wanted to overflow down his cheeks.

Beside him, Lance sighed. "Look, I know you think I'm some kind of idiot that screws around too much and never takes anything seriously-"

"Lance, I don't-"

"-and that's fine, but that doesn't mean I'm going to watch one of my teammates suffer because he was too embarrassed to be honest with me." Keith look away again, supposing it would be then that his blood would finally find a way to show through his cheeks.

Why couldn't he _sleep_? Then everything would just…

Be easier.

"So just… tell me," Lance finished, sounding a bit quieter as he did. "If there's anything I can do, I'll do it. Whatever it is that you think might help. You can't… stay like this, Keith."

No, he couldn't. The fact that it might kill him aside, they couldn't form Voltron if he was too caught up in his own anxiety to function. And if there was no Voltron, there was no saving the universe. It was a lot of pressure, really, and Keith felt it then more acutely than normal.

He swallowed hard, turning over on his side—and away from Lance—as he closed his eyes. Which forced the tired tears to trickle sideways down his cheek and over the bridge of his nose.

"Keith…?"

"Just… keep talking, okay?" he finally managed to choke out, feeling all the more ashamed as he did. "It doesn't matter what you talk about. Just… so I can hear your voice." Which of course caused Lance to go quiet. Purposefully quiet, Keith curling in a bit at the sheer awkwardness of his request.

Allura's drugs were sounding like a better and better option.

"Alright!" Lance said a little too loudly, before clearing his throat. "Well… Did I ever tell you about the time Hunk and I set off all the fire sprinklers in the Garrison's main offices? It was Hunk's fault, obviously, but I got nearly all the blame and…"

Keith kept his eyes closed, more focused on calming his own breathing than actually listening to what Lance was saying. It wasn't the content of his babbling that was soothing so much as it was the buzz of his voice. Lance said a lot of useless things, but Keith was finding himself more and more glad that he said them. Not just because it was helping his anxiety, but because…

No, he didn't need to be thinking about those kinds of things. Or start telling himself that the silence of his shack in the desert wasn't, in fact, preferable.

He needed to sleep.

Lance was there. He was talking. He was okay.

They were both fine, tucked away in the castle.

Nothing would happen.

Lance was _safe_.

He was, right?

And yet Keith couldn't quite find that he was totally certain anymore. He could feel it, the cool metal scraping against his armor. The hazy glow of the Balmera's sunlight was filtering thickly through the tear in Blue's neck.

And the weight in his arms was so, _so_ heavy.

Lance's head was lolled back inside his broken helmet, leaning into the cook of Keith's arm. His lips—stained red and sheer like paper—were parted, a slow, deliberate trickle of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

His eyes were open, wide, and lacking in the energy that normally radiated like sunlight from every sound and gesture he made. Like flowers that had been violently ripped from the dirt and tossed carelessly aside. Like he didn't matter. Like he really was as small and insignificant as Keith sometimes realized they were.

Keith wanted to shake Lance awake, wanted to bang on his chest and bring him back to his senses. Bring back the obnoxious, flirtatious Lance that always had a snarky word and silly ideas that, while unrealistic, somehow kept Keith grounded in the misery of it all.

But he couldn't move. All he could do was sit and watch as that small bead of blood continued to drift, always gaining more ground and yet seemingly perpetual.

Keith wanted to scream. He wanted to close his eyes and pretend like it wasn't happening. He wanted to recall everything Lance had ever said and throw it all away at the same time. He wanted to remember what little time they'd spent together at the Garrison and yet was glad that he didn't. He wanted to hold every moment close and crush them so tight that they shattered in his hands. He didn't want to feel. He didn't want to see this.

And yet it all hurt so badly.

He was scared. He was _so scared_.

Because the world was dark and he was alone.

"Keith!"

That voice pierced through him like a blade through his temples.

"Keith, hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay."

"L-Lance?" he managed to choke out. But finding his voice was like opening the floodgates. He was sweating all over, he was crying, and the world was slipping out from under him.

"I'm here, Keith. Hey, shh, shh, you're just- you're just having a nightmare."

Was he? He couldn't see anything. It was dark and he felt hot. Suffocated. Smothered. Too warm and held down. Where was Lance? Why couldn't he see him? What was going on?

"Keith, breathe!"

The words were like yet another stabbing through his skull. Lance's voice, yet those dead eyes flashed through his thoughts again.

The world was slipping. Everything was cracking around him.

He couldn't- He couldn't-

"Shit, Keith, c'mo- Oh, fuck. A-Alright, that… that's fine. I'll just…"

The world was still spinning, but he could breathe again. He could _breathe_.

And Lance… Lance was _there_.

"Yeah, I'm just- I'm just gonna carry you to the bathroom." Keith hardly registered when he was lifted. It was only when the glaring light of what he eventually determined was Lance's bathroom shocked his system that reality really began to seep in. "And into the tub we go."

He was set gingerly down atop the cool tile. Sweat made his whole body seem twice as heavy and twice as warm, which made the chill of the tub that much more shocking to his system. It woke him up a bit more, made him a bit more alert, but swelled the nausea in his head as well.

He was having trouble breathing again. His chest was surging, like every one of his organs was pressing up against his throat, trying to escape.

"Okay, no, uh- uh! I'm just- Oh, whatever!"

It was when a pair of strong hands reaching under his armpits from behind and leaned him forward that he was finally knocked back into time enough to realize what was happening.

It wasn't that he couldn't breathe.

He was getting sick.

He wasn't sure why Lance had tried to lift him from behind. Maybe he'd been attempting to get him back out of the tub and to the toilet. Maybe he was just trying to assure that Keith didn't choke on his own vomit. In any case, he was still getting sick and it wasn't pretty.

But puking into Lance's bathtub wasn't the worst place he could be sick, he supposed.

It was when he could breathe again that he knew it was over. For some seconds, he just stayed as he was, Lance's hands under his arms and holding him up awkwardly.

Had he avoided being sick on himself?

No. No it would appear not.

"Right, so… not gonna stay in the tub then," Lance eventually decided. "Alright, um… Let's sit you up on the edge, okay?" And so Keith's trembling body was lifted the little distance until he was placed on the edge of the tub. He knew he wouldn't be able to stay there on his own—he was shaking too badly and yet still too weak to hold himself up. But Lance held him steady, sitting beside him.

The last time he'd been sick, he'd been alone and had just… lain in the dark for probably hours afterward. He wasn't entirely sure whether he preferred this situation or not.

"I don't really know how conscious you are right now," Lance was saying, "but you've basically puked all over yourself, so… I'm just gonna take your shirt off, okay?"

The outright acknowledgment of the issue hit Keith like a freight train, which wasn't something he had at all anticipated. Probably because, as of that moment, every emotional shield he could hope to erect was completely and totally decimated. So instead of just being simply humiliated by the whole situation, he was assaulted by yet another wave of tears. Tears that had his breath catching worse than it already was.

He hated it. He hated it all.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Lance said gently, the sheer weight of his _understanding_ only making Keith's whole disposition worse. What he wouldn't give to have Lance making fun of him. How much better that would be. "It's not a big deal."

There was a pause while Keith tried, and failed, to gather himself.

Yet Lance breathed beside him, which was relieving enough to make the whole situation a bit better than it could have been. He could verify that from the long nights of previous experience.

"I'm going to lift your shirt up and-"

"I c-can do it," Keith finally managed to get out, the sob that echoed inside his words making it impossible for him look up. Instead, he found his hands and gripped at the edge of the tub for balance.

"Are you…?" Lance sighed. "Fine. You'll need to take off your pants too. I'll go get you a towel." He hesitated a moment before finally slipping his arms from where they'd been placed around Keith's waist. His absence as he stood was both a relief as well as a burden. A relief because he'd been so close and warm, and a burden for much the same reason. His heat was nauseating in a lot of ways that Keith just wasn't going to think about.

He knew he was safely alone once the bathroom door slid closed, and so his whole body slumped with a heavy sigh. He still shook, the tremors from being sick echoing up and down his skin. He'd thought it'd be easier if Lance left, but somehow he only felt more broken for it.

Taking a few more seconds to gather himself, he eventually reached down and, after surveying the mess, carefully lifted his shirt up over his head so as to prevent making a further muddle of himself. He then wrapped the shirt up in a tight ball and put it in the corner of the bathtub _not_ soiled.

Which was when Lance returned. He said nothing, however. Simply, he placed the towel he'd promised beside the sink and left again.

Beginning to pull himself together enough to really realize what he'd done, Keith's physical pain at being sick began to morph into shame. Which was only made worse by the fact that Lance was right and he did have to remove his pants as well. He tried to wipe them down with water from the tub—which he used to wash away the rest of his mess—but it didn't do a good enough job.

Defeated and supposing the only thing he could do was deal with the punches as they came, he slipped out of his pants, rolled them up, and set them in the tub with his shirt. He then stood and grabbed the towel, wiping himself of sweat and, well, everything else before turning to the mirror.

He looked like death. Pasty skin, sunken, bloodshot eyes, and he doubted his breath was anything to be proud of.

Thankful that Lance kept a healthy supply of all toiletries, he abused some of the mouthwash before finally setting his focus on the fact that he was standing in a bathroom that didn't belong to him in nothing but a pair of maroon boxer-briefs.

He was going to have to talk to Lance, wasn't he? There was no possibility of simply sneaking out past him (not that such an idea had ever been realistic in the first place).

Going to the door, he leaned his forehead against the cool metal for a moment, took a deep breath, and cleared his throat.

"Lance?" he called, his voice rougher than he'd anticipated. He cleared his throat again.

The bathroom door slid open a second later, leaving Keith to stand in the doorway in his underwear while Lance looked him up and down in surprise.

So much for trying at discretion. "I was going to ask for something to wear," he admitted flatly.

"Oh, right…" Lance looked him up and down again, still clearly startled, before he literally shook himself and turned abruptly away. He grabbed a blue robe from where it'd been hanging on a hook nearby before handing it over.

Thankful to have some of his modesty back, Keith quickly slipped the robe on, tied it at the waist, and shoved his hands in the pockets.

It was then, as he shuffled just a few inches out of the bathroom, that he took note that Lance had stripped the bed. In fact—if Keith was remembering correctly—he'd changed his own clothes. He was currently in the midst of pulling more sheets out of the back closet.

The words left Keith's mouth before he could rationalize it. "What are you doing?"

"Uh…" Lance faltered a bit in his walk back to the bed, new bedding in his arms. "Well, you…"

Keith's entire chest felt like it was sinking in on itself, his shoulders following suit. "Oh…" He stared at the floor.

"But, er, it's not a big deal," Lance assured, managing a forced laugh as he began to pulled the new sheet down over his mattress. "I mean, I'm an older brother after all. Not like I haven't dealt with worse from my baby brothers and sisters."

"I'm _not_ a baby," Keith practically snapped, far more upset with himself than he was with Lance.

"That's not…" Lance huffed, pausing in his ministrations to look Keith's way. "Look, I'm not gonna fight with you. For once. Like, I'd normally jump at the opportunity to ruffle you up, but, well, you look like shit and I guess that means you probably feel like it too, so if you're going to be nasty, you should know you're not going to get a reaction out of me."

Keith couldn't help himself—it was just so much easier to push Lance away then deal with what had happened. "I find that hard to believe."

Lance hummed. "Not rising to the bait," he sing-songed.

Keith pouted in frustration.

"There, done," Lance decided once the sheet was strapped to the bed and the rest of it—new pillows and blanket—tossed haphazardly into place. "It's, like, the beginning of our scheduled nighttime, so back to bed."

"I'll get my clothes and go to my own room," Keith decided.

"Uh, _no_." Lance marched up to him and held up a stern finger. "Nope! Nope, nope, nope! You're staying right here."

"Lance-"

"You slept for almost _nine hours_ in here," he went on. "And you still look terrible. You need more sleep. You're staying right here where I can watch you."

The irony of such a statement, when likened to Keith's anxiety, was astounding.

"If I've been sleeping for nine hours, that's more than enough," Keith replied. The mortified part of him wanted to be well away from Lance, even if his paranoia was quite satisfied with staying. Which left him in a position was wanting desperately go to while not having any real motivation to do so.

"You're not leaving," Lance said with a shrug, as if he had all the power in the universe to make it so. "You slept for a long time and I'm going to make sure you get all the rest you need." He coughed into his hand suddenly. "You know, for the team. For Voltron. For the _universe_."

"Nine hours is a lot longer than I normally sleep."

"You're _not leaving_ , Keith. Everyone else is going to bed now too, so you might as well stay." He raised his eyebrows, like he was honestly warning Keith not to object further. Not that he had the chance to—Lance was continuing on a second later. "Look, I don't care that you got sick, alright? I don't care about any of it."

Keith bit the inside of his cheek and looked to the side.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," he went on, as if it was really just that clear-cut. "You're right, you're not a baby." He'd stepped forward and placed a heavy yet gentle hand on Keith's shoulder. "You're just… dealing. Like we all are."

"You say that, but you seem to be just fine with nearly everything." Shiro had implied that Lance _was_ struggling with what had happened, but Keith certainly couldn't see it.

Lance sighed. "Why do you keep saying that?" he asked quietly.

"Because you're just as obnoxious and laid back as always!" Keith barked. "Like I didn't just puke all over you and you didn't just die and like everything is great all the time!"

Lance's eyes flashed, something darker than Keith had ever seen glaring through his expression. "That's because you don't know me at all."

"I know you're always joking around when you shouldn't be, and flirting with anything that walks, and-"

"Just shut up, Keith," he interrupted, voice steady. "I said I wasn't going to argue with you. If you want to tell me how useless and inappropriate I am, then save it till the morning."

Keith gaped. "That's not what I said!"

"Then what did you say?"

"I just don't understand how nothing bothers you!"

Lance growled. "Everything bothers me!" He'd practically shouted, before groaning and rubbing the bridge of his nose. " _This_ doesn't bother me," he explained, tone controlled once again as he gestured between them.

"Really?" Keith asked, crossing his arms and raising a skeptical brow. "I would have thought that I'm the _only_ thing that bothers you most of the time."

"You do bother me," Lance admitted quietly. "Just, like, not the for real kind of bothering."

"'For real?' What does that even mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything…" He'd turned back toward the bed.

Keith ground his teeth. "You say I don't know you, but then you don't give me any answers. Or is it just that you don't want me to understand?" After all, Lance could "admire" him all he wanted, that didn't mean he liked him.

"Christ, Keith!" He whipped back around. "Look, I'm just a really private person, alright? Picking fights with you is easy, like making stupid jokes and flirting with aliens I know I don't stand a chance with. What else do you want me to say?"

"Nothing I guess, if you don't want to say anything."

"Now you're just being passive-aggressive."

"No, I'm just annoyed that you're trying to tell me what to do like you know what's best, and that I just woke up from a nightmare and got sick, and you're just acting like it's a normal or expected. The least you could do is, I don't know, make some comment about how pathetic I am."

Lance gripped at his hair. "I don't even know what we're talking about anymore. I said I wasn't going to argue with you."

"I'm not trying to argue!"

"Then what are you trying to do?"

"I'm trying to _understand_! I _told_ you!"

"What is there to understand?!" Lance rebuked harshly. "You think it doesn't scare the shit out of me that I fucking _died_? You think I don't lie awake thinking about it? You think I haven't been agonizing all day over the fact that this whole thing has messed you up so bad that you can't even function? Goddammit, Keith, I'm fucking _worried_ about you! Of course I'm concerned that you have fucking nightmares and that you got sick—that's why I'm trying to get you to _go back to bed_!"

Keith blinked, a bloated pause rising between them that lasted only long enough for him to try and comprehend. "Why are you worried?"

Lance gaped, hands held out before him in a helpless manner. Before he released an exasperated groan. "Why am I…? Are you seriously asking that? Like, you're _legitimately_ asking me that question?"

"Yes?"

Lance gestured at him vaguely. "Because I care, you asshole! I care about _you_!"

Which, logically, Keith should have known. That was the rational implication when someone expressed being worried about another. Yet he was still shocked. And relatively baffled. As far as he'd figured, Lance only cared about him as much as a teammate was required, which didn't justify overt concern.

"Holy crow," Lance muttered a second later. "I told you I _admired_ you for crying out loud. How is this coming as some great shock?"

Keith pursed his lips in offense. "That doesn't necessarily mean you care." Keith had had plenty of people in his life that admired him, even claimed to have liked him, that didn't actually care about him. As far as his experience went, there was a huge difference between the two.

"Well, I do care, okay? So can we just stop talking about this now? This whole conversation is stupid."

Keith flinched back a bit at that. It didn't help that he was still trying to recover from Lance's admission. "Sorry."

Lance looked pained, before taking a huffing breath. "Not to say that you're stupid."

"Then what are you saying?"

"I'm not saying anything! Why are you so suspicious? Can't you just accept that I care and move on?"

"No." Why would he just accept that? Especially when considering how Lance had always acted toward him. "You're always so nasty to me. Of course I'm suspicious."

"Well, I- I haven't been nasty to you lately," Lance reasoned, putting his hands on his hips.

"I know! And it's very confusing!"

"Okay, listen." Stepping forward again, Lance put both his hands on Keith's shoulders. "And listen good, because I'm not going to repeat this." He took a deep breath. "I don't hate you. I don't even moderately dislike you. I think you're rash and that sometimes you make stupid decisions—like rushing into battle by yourself or ending up in space without your lion—but that doesn't mean I hate you. And yes, I like picking on you, okay? You're fun to piss off and you make it really easy to do. Okay? Is that enough? Or are you still too socially inept to comprehend what I'm saying?"

Keith glared at him. "I didn't _ask_ to be this way." He knew perfectly well that, more often than not, he was too slow to catch up on most social cues, but Lance didn't have to point it out so blatantly.

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask you to be this way either, yet here we are. Now, with that out of the way, let's just stop fighting _please_."

"I wasn't trying to fight."

"Fine. I don't hate you, you weren't trying to fight. Let's just hug it out, okay?"

"Wait, what?" Keith tried to step back, but Lance was already closing in around him, arms moving to wrap around his back and hold him tight—despite how stiff and unresponsive Keith was in comparison.

"There we go," Lance seemingly encouraged, but based on the exaggerated way he ran his hand up and down Keith's back, he was likely mocking the whole situation. "See? Not so bad. Lots of care and affection here. I can feel it in how tense you are."

"You are literally the worst," Keith decided, unable to stop his cheeks from flushing.

"There, there," Lance patted the back of his head. "Just close your eyes and let it all wash over you."

"Get off me."

He held on tighter. "Hugs are good for the soul."

"Yeah, well, I don't make a habit of it most of the time." Shiro was about the only person he tolerated hugging him, and that was only because of years of exposure. Also, Shiro was wide and warm and that was nice.

Lance was just bony. And heated in a way that was more like being in a sauna than hugging a stuffed animal.

"You should," Lance reasoned, still refusing to loosen his grip. "Hunk, for example, gives _great_ hugs. Coran too, actually."

"You've hugged Coran?"

"Of course!" Like it was supposed to be obvious.

Keith sighed.

"I'm not going to let go until you hug me back," he said a second later, which only pinged Keith's irritation further. Still, the faster he cooperated, the faster it'd be over, right? Right. That justified why he reached up and wrapped his arms around Lance's back. And why, after a second, he decided that—while Lance was all sharp points and salty heat—leaning into him really wasn't so bad. Nor was it the worst possible thing when he rested his forehead on Lance's shoulder.

Okay, it wasn't the worst thing at all actually. Hugging Lance was actually kind of nice. Especially since he'd stopped making fun of the whole situation and was simply hugging him back.

What did it mean that Lance cared? Was this what it meant to have Lance caring about him? It felt an awful lot like Shiro caring about him, which Keith had come to learn was a rare occurrence. People didn't just "care" because they could.

"If I ask you a question, can you promise not to make fun of me?" Keith asked after a few seconds, still firmly held in Lance's embrace.

"I minute ago, you wanted me to make fun of you."

Keith didn't say anything.

"No, I won't make fun of you," Lance eventually said.

"Why… Why do you care?" Because that led to worry, and that led to everything else, right? So why bother in the first place.

Lance chuckled, but it didn't sound malicious. "Because we're friends, you dweeb. Why do you care about me?"

A fair question, and one that Keith had been avoiding. So instead of answering, he just held a little tighter and hoped doing so wasn't inappropriate. If it was, Lance didn't say so. He didn't say anything, actually. He just kept holding tight, like Keith could keep them like that forever and he wouldn't object at all.

Keith decided he should have hugged Lance a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this during the end of a 15 hour flight to Japan and was very tired, so if it seems a bit jumbled, sorry XD


	6. Chapter 6

Lance missed the sun.

Granted, being stranded out in space as an obligatory savior of the universe without any warning whatsoever generally meant he missed a lot of things. But the feeling of the sun was up near the top of his list. Right under family and actual human food.

Sometimes, when it was nearing the time he had to get up, he'd keep his eyes closed and just… _imagine_ what the sun's rays would feel like streaming through his window. He'd convince himself he was feeling the lazy warmth of early morning, and sometimes he'd even get close enough to feel a slight breeze through the open screen.

None of it was real, of course. Just his memories. But desperation did strange things to the mind—made it possible to remember with a sense of realism he'd never required before. Which was what made this particular morning so different. The warmth wasn't quite right—it wasn't the sun—but he also wasn't imagining it.

It was… nice.

Lifting his lids just a tad, Lance stared down his nose. The room was dark, but his eyes adjusted quickly enough. Not that he was somehow surprised that Keith was cuddled up close, head resting on Lance's chest and mullety hair a fluffy mess. After practically _forcing_ Keith back to bed, Lance had laid down beside him and remained forcefully awake until the other boy had drifted off. At which point he must have as well.

No, they hadn't fallen asleep cuddled up together, but Lance had four younger siblings and he was oftentimes a source of comfort when they were upset. He was never surprised to wake up and find another body snuggled up close to his own. And while he wouldn't have fathomed that he'd ever find _Keith_ in this position, it wasn't like he had a problem with it.

Who would have thought Keith was a cuddler, though? Lance, personally, wasn't really one way or the other on the subject. He was so accustomed to being cuddled up to that his own opinion had long since become irrelevant.

The heat was nice, though. Somehow, it made the void of space seem less… daunting, having another body there.

Or maybe that was just the loneliness talking.

Lance released a light sigh. "What am I gonna do with you?" he whispered, pulling his hand up before gently placing it upon Keith's tousled hair. He half expected that he'd wake the other boy up, but Keith just kept right on sleeping.

Carefully, Lance smoothed the strands, petting Keith's head and allowing the soft hair to sift between his fingers.

Meanwhile, the guilt pounded more acutely at the back of his consciousness. Because, really, Keith was this messed because of _him_. Because he'd gone and died, and now Keith was probably scarred for life. It seemed so typical, really, that all he'd wanted to do was save Keith and somehow ended up hurting him in the process. As if he couldn't do anything right, not even sacrificing himself for a teammate.

Shivering a bit to himself, Lance paused in his stroking of Keith's hair when the other boy began to shift. As opposed to waking up, however, he simply nuzzled his nose more deeply into Lance's night shirt and continued snoozing.

It was clear there was no easy fix for Keith. Just like Shiro was never able to let go of his trauma, Keith would always be haunted by this. Which only made Lance feel worse. He couldn't even imagine it, holding a dying teammate in his arms and being unable to do anything. Yet, the mere thought left him feeling hollow, as well as slightly nauseated.

Logic dictated that there was no point in regret or guilt. He knew Keith wouldn't appreciate it and he certainly knew it wasn't any help. Yet, still, it plagued him, making everything seem heavier. Like each day they spent out in space and each mistake he made was one more brick dropped in the sacks strapped to his back.

Would he break at some point too? Would something happen that would just…

He couldn't even fathom it.

In any case—no matter his own feelings—his responsibility then and there was to keep Keith healthy by any means he could. He wasn't the best pilot on the team, or fighter, or strategist. Nor was he a genius or an engineer. But maybe he could do this. Maybe he could offer what little comfort he had at his disposal when someone needed it.

And if that meant Keith slept in his bed and snuggled with him, so be it.

"Wha-dime is it?" Keith's groggy voice interjected into the silence, his eyes barely fluttering open. In the same moment, he sat up. Not hastily, but with that swift physical grace he possessed that Lance generally found himself jealous of.

He blinked slowly, hair mussed and sticking out around the section Lance had petted down. The blue robe he was wearing had loosened and so one sleeve was falling off his shoulder, revealing a very pale arm and allowing Lance a view of half his chest and collarbone.

Dude seriously needed some sun.

But, then again, they probably all did.

"We've got, like, half an hour before we should probably start getting ready," Lance replied, yawning and stretching his arms up above his head. He remained lying down, however, unable to hold back his grin at the disgruntled hum Keith released in response.

They sat there like that for a few moments, the silent seconds ticking by, before Keith released a rather dramatic huff and collapsed back down to where he'd been previously. The motion took Lance somewhat by surprise, seeing as that meant Keith was once again curled up against him with his head on his chest. And while Lance didn't have an issue with the cuddling, he'd expected that Keith _would_ (assuming the previous intimacy had been an accident).

"Uh…" he found himself saying stupidly. "What are you doing?"

"You said we have half an hour."

"Yeah, but…" Lance ultimately decided to ignore the Keith-lying-on-top-of-him detail. "You're always the first one up. Like, way earlier than all of us."

A statement that didn't illicit an immediate response.

"Keith?" Lance asked.

"It's really comfortable here," he admitted quietly.

"…Oh…" Lance didn't know what to say. And maybe—based on the redness that was rising on Keith's cheeks—it was better that he didn't. Yes, he liked to tease Keith, but he was trying to be nicer and he didn't really want to pick on the other boy for anything that would actually hurt his feelings.

Yet, despite his efforts to say nothing at all that would ruin the moment, Lance could still feel the tension slowly bubbling up between them. So he did the only thing he could think to do on the fly and reached out. As he had before, he laid his hand on Keith's head and lightly petted the hair, once again catching the soft strands between his fingers.

Like a balloon that had never been tied shut, the tension just… deflated.

When Keith finally closed his eyes again, Lance figured everything was fine. Well, he hoped it was, in any case. The last thing he wanted to do was unintentionally encourage Keith to keep his distance.

Still, that didn't mean he had to let Keith get away with _everything_.

"How often do you wash your hair?" he asked rather suddenly.

"Uh… why?"

Lance shrugged. "Just wondering." He continued with the petting.

"No, you're implying something," Keith snapped back. "You're always implying _something_."

Lance laughed. "I wasn't!"

"You're lying." Keith glared up at him.

So Lance laughed harder. "I really wasn't! I just noticed that your hair is very soft, like a kitty, and I was curious if your kitten-hair was hereditary or if you use a special product."

Keith pouted, looking quite as though he wanted to continue objecting, but couldn't quite tell if Lance was making fun of him or not.

"It's just my hair…" he settled for saying.

"I wonder if all Galra have hair like this. Space fur. You're a space kitten."

"I knew it."

"I'll call you Fluffy and you will be petted regularly."

"Stop it."

"And I'll get you a collar with a bell, because cats."

"I hate you."

"I don't see you doing anything about it," Lance dared to say, never ceasing in his gentle stroking. For a moment, they were quiet again, Keith only shifting slightly. But he didn't sit up, nor did he even make an attempt to shy away from Lance's attentions. Instead, he just laid there and stared out across the shadowed room, the slight purple glint in his eyes almost seeming to glow.

"Hey, I was just playing," Lance eventually said.

"I know."

Pause.

"Keith?"

"Your heartbeat," he murmured. "I'm… listening to it." An admission that had absolutely nothing to do with their previous conversation, but that Lance understood was somehow reason enough.

He kept steadily stroking Keith's hair. "It's going to _keep_ beating, you know."

Keith closed his eyes and turned his nose into Lance's shirt. "I know…"

But that wasn't the point—Lance knew that perfectly well.

They stayed like that for a while longer, Lance eventually dozing off only to wake up an entire _two hours_ later to Allura's voice yelling through the speakers in his room. Keith was gone, as were the clothes he'd shed the night before, and Lance was assaulted by annoyance that his teammate had clearly gotten up without waking him and now he was _late_!

Generally speaking, if there wasn't an emergency, Lance wasn't the type to rush. And so, despite his tardiness, he indulged in all his regular routines before walking quite normally to the dining hall.

Everyone was already there as he entered, Shiro and Allura casting him severe looks while Hunk and Pidge giggled into their food goo. Keith was there as well, looking fresh as a daisy as he calmly pushed goo between his lips and didn't so much as twitch in Lance's direction.

"I hope you got enough sleep," Allura said as he rounded the table.

"Oh definitely," Lance assured, eyeing a chair beside Keith as he made his way closer. In the same moment, he winked at Allura. "Dreamt of you all night long."

Allura sighed, Shiro rubbed the bridge of his nose, and Keith had the audacity to roll his eyes.

"He does need his beauty sleep," Pidge quipped and Lance nearly agreed with her. Until she continued, anyway. "I mean, he really, _really_ needs it."

Allura sputtered a laugh before clearing her throat.

Huffing, Lance dropped down into the chair beside Keith, glaring at Pidge all the while. "You'd know from experience I guess. Don't be jealous just because I always get my beauty sleep and you clearly never get _any_."

It was her turn to glare.

"You get too much beauty sleep if you ask me," Shiro muttered, trying to put the subject back on Lance's tardiness. He added a stern look for good measure.

"Yeah, sorry." Lance gave in, before beginning to stretch. Pulling his arms up, he smacked Keith in the face with the back of his hand as he did, knocking the other boy to the side and sending a spoonful of food goo flying across the table. "I accidentally fell back asleep."

Keith straightened in his chair and scowled at him, while Lance smiled.

"But I do feel extremely refreshed," he finished, refusing to meet Keith's glare as he dug into his own breakfast goo.

"Well, hopefully everyone does," Allura said strictly, her tone hinting that they were about to move on to more serious matters. Lance didn't miss the way both she and Shiro eyed Keith, however. But he looked far better and more alert than the day before, so hopefully they were satisfied.

Lance stuffed some goo in his mouth and leaned over to chew loudly in Keith's ear.

"With Lance being in the healing pod so long, Voltron training has been sorely ignored," she continued.

Keith wrapped his fist around the handle of his spoon and slowly turned to glare yet again.

Lance smiled a gooey grin.

Keith's nose curled and he shied away in disgust.

"Paladins!" Allura shouted. None of them flinched—they were accustomed to her exasperated yelling like a child was their mother's scoldings. It was only when her voice took on that deeper tone that they knew better than to push her.

Closing her eyes for a moment to gather herself—since she finally had their attention—Allura took a deep breath before continuing. "Like I was saying, your Voltron training must be priority one now that Lance is at full health. But, in lieu of what happened, Coran and I have… decided to add a small something to your daily routines."

The two alteans exchanged a meaningful look, which only served to perplex the paladins further. It was obvious that the event the princess was referencing was Lance's impermanent demise, though none liked to say it explicitly. Yet it seemed an odd thing to lead into some kind of training. After all, they had near-death experiences all the time.

"It is a tradition that many alteans partook in when they were off on space missions for long durations of time," Coran started, bending over the side of his chair and hauling up small, plastic box. It reminded Lance of plastic ware, but thicker. "Any and all record of these missions was pertinent to knowing the details if anything went wrong. But, perhaps more importantly, it was a way in which the lives—the history—of individuals on mission could be recorded. When discovering new planets and civilizations, this log was crucial." Standing, he opened the box and pulled out a small pin molded into the same swoop-like shape of the natural-born tattoos beneath both Allura and his own eyes. It glittered with a kind of silver sheen.

"These are recorder pins," Allura explained. "With a simple tap, they activate and allow you to record all that is around you, both audibly and visually. They aren't any kind of high tech device—more akin to a child's toy, really—but they do what we require of them. All you need do is wear them or keep them with you. All records will be sent to the castle's database and safely stored." Coran had pulled out four more of the devices—one for each of them.

"Well, alright…" Pidge's brows were furrowed curiously. "I guess I get the concept, but what exactly do you want us to record? Our helmets have the same, if not better, technology already."

"It is for recording everything else," Allura replied. "You're paladins of Voltron, but you are also individuals. And someday your names will be written into the histories of civilizations all over the universe. Who you are, what you personally go through, these will be important facets of the tales told about you. But it all begins here. And if you do not write your stories yourselves, history will write them for you."

Her implication was heavy, their positions and what rested on their shoulders abruptly very heavy.

Allura smiled. "But, for our team, it is less what history will make of us and more what we make of each other." Her expression turned sad, gaze going to Lance. "It occurred to both Coran and I, when we thought that we might… lose you, that we knew very little of who you were. This mission we have, it presses forward always and it's easy to be caught up in the rush. It's our duty to be caught up in it. But it's also our duty to honor it.

"Which is why I want you all to journal, in a way, from now on. It is at your own volition, of course." Coran was handing out the pins. "But if there ever are questions to be asked about you, or stories to tell—even if the worst were to happen—we will have these parts of you."

Handling his pin carefully, Lance could barely make out his warped reflection in its surface. Allura's words had a dampening effect on the whole room, their own mortality just as apparent as their mission. But it was reality and, really, she had a point.

If he had died, Lance wondered, and they'd had to get a new Blue paladin, what would there have been left behind of him? He had no important possessions in space, nothing solid. He'd be the Blue paladin that had died—the boy in the blue armor that showed up on some of the mission recordings. That was all the future would have known of him.

But, still, even if they'd been "journaling" beforehand, would it even matter? If he hadn't been around for the "last battle," then he'd still have been forgotten in its shadow. That was how history was written.

No, these pins weren't for history, not as it related to strangers. It was for them. Like a photo album so that, if the worst did happen, those left behind would have a piece of something to cling to. It was a recording not to remember, but to offer comfort if and when the end came.

Like photo boards at a funeral.

A fact that the others were likely feeling as well. Looking to the side, Lance caught the sight of Keith out of the corners of his eyes. Though he too was staring at the pin, there was something in his expression that was… far away. Glazed over and… sad.

Determined—and not just for Keith—Lance put his attention back on his food goo and began shoveling it into his mouth. "Did you do something different to the goo?" he asked suddenly, voice breaking the silence so severely that everyone in the room looked his way. "It tastes weird."

There were a few tense moments where all that was audible was Lance's incessant chewing. But like he'd popped a balloon and everyone was simply recovering from the noise, the others eventually blinked their way out of their stupors.

"We tried a new additive in the hopes it would ease the natural tanginess of the goo, since your human pallets seem to be more sensitive," Coran explained, the mood settling back into something relatively normal. Not as though their new task were forgotten, but simply as though they were pushing through it. They had to—there was no other choice.

"Oh." Lance shrugged. "No offense, but I don't think there's much improving possible on food goo."

"I know." Hunk hung his head. "But we're running out of ingredients for other stuff."

Every human at the table shrank a little in their seats, the lighter mood—as light as the mood could get in their positions—returning.

They eventually ended up out in their lions, running training exercises and getting back up to snuff (not that they were somehow lacking snuff). Everything was going smoothly and completely as expected, Voltron was formed, they did some maneuvers, and were soon separated again to practice group techniques.

Which was when it hit. Like a Galra ship slamming into him from an abrupt wormhole, it hit him _hard_.

So hard that Lance had to pull Blue up short, which caused Pidge and Keith to run headlong into one another.

"What the fuck, Lance?" Keith grouched.

"Yeah!" Pidge's voice chimed in. "You were supposed to-"

"Hunk, what the hell did you put in that goo?" Lance asked, breathing labored as he tried to remain as still as possible in his seat. He could feel Blue's waves of sympathy rolling over him, as well as concern.

Because Lance knew this feeling. Knew it very, very well.

"Uh… it was some kind of nut powder we made. Coran scanned it and said it should be safe." All of which Hunk said as though he was uncertain he should be saying anything at all.

"What kind of nut?" Lance asked hastily.

"Lance, why does this-"

He had no issues interrupting Shiro in those desperate moments. "What kind of nut, Hunk?!"

"Ah- It- I don't know. It was a nut we were given by the-"

"Where do they come from?!" Lance asked. "The nuts! Did they come off trees?!"

"Er… Maybe?" Hunk replied. "But… they were alien trees…"

It was only the threat of disaster that kept Lance steady, though that didn't mean he couldn't shout. "YOU KNOW I'M ALLERGIC TO TREE NUTS, HUNK!"

"But they're _alien_ trees!" Hunk cried.

Alien trees or no, it apparently didn't matter. Taking hold of Blue's control sticks, Lance pushed her as fast as he could back to the castle, knowing he was on a very delicate timetable. Already he could feel his stomach rumbling, trying to push whatever it was inside him that it didn't like out through any path possible. And he'd eaten a lot of food goo, which meant this was going to get really ugly really fast. Hopefully he could get to the privacy of his own room.

Blue was in her hanger a few moments later, already preparing to open her mouth and let him out without him even having to prompt her. Unfortunately, the situation was too delicate to be handled rashly, and so Lance took a deep, steadying breath before slowly rising from his chair. He swallowed hard in the same moment and put as much concentration as he could spare into slowly walking forward.

He felt hot already, and beads of sweat were forming all over his body from the sheer stress he was physically under. It was only once he was carefully walking out into the open hanger that he realized he was in his paladin armor, which took far more effort to remove than a pair of pants and boxers.

The realization was nearly enough to knock out his determination, but he stayed steady, held his head high, and refused to be the first paladin to embarrass themselves in this manner. He took all the poise he'd ever learned from his mother and focused totally and completely on making it to his room. Even when he'd made it to the hall and his teammates were rushing toward him, looking worried, he didn't give them the time of day.

He held his hand up to Pidge when she tried to question him, silencing her, and was thankful when Hunk advised that they just leave him alone.

The trek was long, but he persevered. Each second brought him closer to demise—to total and utter humiliation—but soon the sight of his door was coming into view. And then he was inside, carefully but swiftly removing each piece of his armor before peeling the suit away.

Closing the bathroom up behind him, he stayed behind locked doors for the next three hours.

Hunk came to see him eventually, and offered a very elaborate and nice apology from the other side of the bathroom door. And while Lance accepted it through his misery, he wasn't sure he'd go so far as to say it helped. Not in those moments anyway.

It was after one of many back and forth trips to the bathroom—once he'd gathered enough courage to leave it—that he walked into his bedroom to find Keith standing near the door with a concerned frown.

Pulling his robe more tightly around him, Lance ignored the look and instead collapsed onto his bed and pulled himself into the fetal position.

"Are you okay?" Keith eventually asked.

"No." Truth be told, Lance was very dramatic and whiny when he was ill. He knew this just as well as all his family members. And sometimes he liked to humor himself by thinking that, next time, he'd be less bitchy when he was sick. But as soon as he actually _was_ sick, all that resolve went right out the window.

"Okay…"

"My body is trying to rip itself apart, so please go away and let me suffer in peace." The words were harsh, mean even, but Lance didn't care. His intestines were already gearing up for another assault and he didn't really want to be dealing with Keith's comments at the same time.

"Wow…" Keith said flatly. "That's kind of… melodramatic."

"Screw off," Lance snapped, before turning over onto his other side and glaring at the wall.

"You screw off," Keith rebuked, though it hardly sounded wholehearted. Still, it was enough to get Lance's irritation ticking.

"Could you just go away? I don't know if you can tell, but I don't exactly want an audience, alright? Go kill a robot with your giant butter knife or something."

Unfortunately, what he registered next wasn't the opening and closing of his door, but the shifting weight of his mattress as Keith sat down beside him.

"Yeah, okay, say whatever you want, but Allura and Shiro were concerned you might be getting dehydrated." He tapped Lance on the arm with his finger. "So I brought you some water." He reached over and waggled a cup in front of Lance's nose.

"I know how to drink water," Lance sniped. "You're not here for that—you're just here to check on me." And it was through such seemingly harmless words that his implication was perfectly clear. He knew it as soon as the words left his mouth, his own guilt overcoming him nearly as heavily as his allergic reaction had.

Sitting up swiftly, he grabbed Keith before the other boy could get away. "I'm sorry!" he wailed, wrapping his arms around Keith's waist and leaning his head on the back of his shoulder. "I didn't mean it! I'm just a really big jerk when I feel icky!"

"What the hell, Lance?!" Keith squawked, wiggling in his hold. But Lance refused to release him.

"Don't be _mad_!" he begged.

"I'm not- Why would I be mad? And why are you _clinging_ to me?!" Reaching down with the hand not holding the cup of water, Keith tried to pry himself free. It didn't work.

"Because I was being _nasty_!" Lance continued. "I didn't mean it when I said you were just here to check on me! I'm sorry…"

"Lance- Wh- Of course I'm here to check on you. Why else would I be here? I brought you fucking water."

And while Keith continued to try and get free (a failing endeavor), Lance reconsidered his words before eventually realizing that of _course_ Keith hadn't taken offense. This was _Keith_. Lance's underhanded, rude, mean, horrible implication had gone right over his head.

Thank goodness.

"Will you let go of me?!"

Oh, right.

Loosening his grip, Lance gave back into his misery as the urgency evaporated from his system. Collapsing on his bed, he curled up again and decided that maybe saying nothing at all was the best option. If he said nothing, he could offend no one. Also, he didn't like being an _actual_ jerk, even if his mouth sometimes forgot that bit of info when his guts were tearing his insides apart.

Keith remained on the bed, turning his head to look down while also holding the cup of water. A second later, he set it on the side of Lance's head, holding it there as the cool chill of the bottom settled through Lance's hair.

"You should drink this," he said a second later.

Lance just closed his eyes.

"I'll leave it on the floor beside the bed, alright?" he continued. "So don't knock it over or something." He did stand then, the chill of the cup leaving Lance a little lightheaded as it retreated. Cracking one eye open, he watched as Keith headed toward the door. And, quite despite his efforts to be quiet, he found himself speaking yet again.

"Hey, Keith?"

Pausing, Keith turned quickly to look back at him. "Yeah?"

But Lance hadn't had anything to say in the first place, which left him grappling for anything less embarrassing than "I just didn't want you to leave." "I just want you to know," he started, "that you're really annoying."

Keith's shoulders dropped and he released an impatient breath. "Thanks," he deadpanned. "Glad I took the time to come all the way here."

"No problem." Lance managed a small smile. But then Keith was turning away again and he was opening his mouth as if in automatic response. "Hey, Keith!"

Clicking his tongue, Keith paused before visibly forcing himself to turn. "Yes?"

The grin was still apparent on Lance's face. "Your hair is really stupid."

"Why are you like this?"

He shrugged into the sheets.

And so Keith once again tried to retreat, and Lance _once again_ called him back.

"Hey, Keith!"

" _What_?!"

"Well, damn! Never mind." Lance pouted. "See if I ever talk to you again."

"That would be a blessing."

"You'd miss my constant badgering—we both know that perfectly well."

A comment that caused Keith to snap his gaze abruptly toward the floor. And that left Lance reasoning with himself, yet again, about the virtues of keeping his mouth shut. But it was also beginning to get a bit ridiculous. He wasn't saying it maliciously, nor was he trying to somehow create commentary on Keith's situation.

He was just trying…

To put things back to normal.

"Not that I'm surprised," he continued, sniffing as he did. "I mean, I am the handsomest, most intelligent, most talented one on the team." Three things he knew were not at all true, but that wasn't the point. "It's only reasonable that you'd go out of your way to be bothered by me. Truly, the honor is all yours."

Across the room, Keith had crossed his arms over his chest and was shaking his head. "You're completely hopeless," he finally settled for saying, no flare or bite in his words at all.

Lance grinned. "Hopelessly magnificent."

"Hopelessly ridiculous."

And maybe Lance would have had some kind of immature rebuke to throw back, but his body decided such would have to wait, as the perfect moment to thrust him back into misery had, apparently, manifested. Tensing, he gritted his teeth and stayed still in his bed just long enough to gather his composure before standing as swiftly as he dared and darting back into the bathroom.

"Lance?!" Keith's voice drifted through the door, Lance feeling all the more humiliated.

"I'm fine!" he assured. "Just… could you go?"

He took the silence that followed as answer enough. Which left him surprised twenty minutes later when, as he left the bathroom, he found Keith sitting on his bed waiting patiently for him.

He frowned. "I thought you left," he deadpanned, his body still aching and tearing at itself.

"I literally threw up all over you last night, your bed, and your bathtub," Keith reminded, crossing his arms over his chest. "I think we're a little past being embarrassed by these kinds of things, don't you think?"

Lance cocked an eyebrow. "How… astute of you."

"I have my moments."

Moments that, Lance figured, stemmed more from logic than any kind of emotionalism. To Keith, it was just rationale. Whether they liked it or not, they had already trespassed on some kind of social expectation of privacy, and so there was no reason to indulge in the polite niceties that dictated how they related to one another. Or so Lance assumed _he_ thought. But, even so, he and Hunk shared in a similar kind of intimacy, yet other boy still left when Lance asked him to. Why? Because sometimes people wanted their privacy whether it was really "warranted" or not.

Which was where Keith's reasoning fell short. But that was so completely and utterly _Keith_ that Lance couldn't bring himself to be irritated.

Hanging his head and finding himself too exhausted to combat the matter, Lance dragged his way across the room before flopping down on the bed beside the other boy. He pulled himself up into the fetal position a second later, closed his eyes, and wished he'd never gorged himself on food goo. He'd likely be sick for the rest of the day. Which meant that, not only did her feel terrible, but he was holding up Voltron training _again_.

"Sorry about this," he found himself saying. "We were finally ready to get back to training and I managed to screw it up again.

"You didn't screw it up," Keith replied, sounding honestly perplexed. "It's not your fault you're allergic to whatever it is Coran and Hunk put in the food goo. Shit happens."

Lance released a short, bitter laugh. "Yeah, I guess. But still, we're way behind…"

"Behind in what?"

"I don't know. Saving the universe?" Lance wasn't even sure what he was saying, were he being honest. Nor why he was saying things like this at all to Keith. But maybe there _was_ something to be said for how personal they'd grown as of late. "I was in the pod for a month, Keith. That's a whole month we could have been doing… something."

"Maybe." Keith shrugged. "But I don't think anyone expects that freeing the universe from the Galra is going to happen quickly. Besides, it was only a matter of time before one of us was hurt. It's happened before and it'll happen again. Just… hopefully it won't get quite as far as it did… recently." Factual, realistic, and yet talking about it remained difficult.

Lance felt worse.

"Yeah, but it just seems so typical that it'd be me," he continued, knowing he was throwing himself a pity party. Maybe it was because he was already feeling sick and whiney, but the things he would normally keep totally to himself were leaking out and he didn't have the strength to keep them sealed away. "I feel like I'm always holding us back."

"What are you talking about?" Keith asked, his tone coming off as slightly irritated. "You're the blue paladin—you're just as necessary to the team as the rest of us."

"Yeah, because Voltron needs two legs," he rebuked. "There are plenty of other pilots that could fly Blue better than I can. Any of the cadets in our class could have. Like Iverson used to say, I only got into fighter class because you washed out."

"Lance…"

"You and Shiro are both amazing pilots, and you both have great combat skills. Pidge is a fucking genius, and Hunk knows how to fix or build anything. Sometimes I wonder why I'm even here…"

"Lance, what are you saying?"

Glancing up, he could see the horror that his words suggested imbedded in Keith's expression. Which told him that he really had gone too far and he needed to shut up. Keith didn't need to know about his doubts, or how down he felt sometimes. Or even about…

He was Lance—upbeat, flirtatious, always joking around. He had to be that person. His insecurities wouldn't help the team any, that was for sure, and so he just had to swallow them. He couldn't be a burden. Or, at least, he didn't want to be.

"I'm not saying anything," he replied, forcing a small smile onto his lips. "Just being stupid and feeling sorry for myself because I feel like shit. Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it?" Keith asked. "Yeah, no offense _Lance_ , but you can't just say something like that and expect me not to worry about it. Do you want to leave Voltron?"

"Huh? What? No. That's not…" Great, now look what he'd done. "That's not what I'm saying."

"Then what are you saying?"

"Nothing. Just forget it."

Keith growled. "Why are you like this? You say something without actually explaining and then you just move on like it didn't happen."

"I shouldn't have said anything in the first place, alright? Just forget it."

"I can't forget it. It sounds like you don't want to be here, like you want to leave."

"I told you that wasn't what I meant."

"Then tell me what you meant!"

Lance reached up and gripped the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I didn't mean anything by it, okay? I feel crappy and so I say crappy things. I don't want to leave Voltron."

"That doesn't explain why you would say something like that in the first place."

"Jesus, Keith!" Lance sat up abruptly, wanting to blame Keith for this miscommunication, but knowing it was his own fault. "Can you just let it go?"

"No!"

"Well, I don't want to talk about it!"

"Yeah, well, I do!"

"It's none of your business…"

"What the fuck, Lance!" Keith stood, as if he was too irate to sit still. "So it's okay for you to comfort me when I'm upset, but I'm not allowed to help you?"

"I don't need help, Keith, okay? I'm _fine_. I was just being an idiot."

"Clearly _something_ is bothering you."

"Yeah, and it's none of your business."

"I'm making it my business."

Lance huffed. "That's not how it works."

"Okay, then how is it supposed to work, huh? You said it yourself that we're friends—that it's okay that we care about each other. So why won't you tell me what's bothering you?"

"Because I don't want to."

"As if I _wanted_ to talk to you about what I'm dealing with?"

"That's not the point."

"That's _exactly_ the point."

Caught in a stalemate, they fell silent, each staring belligerently at the other. But Lance didn't have in him to keep the argument going and so was the first to look away. But that wasn't to say he was giving in to Keith's reasoning. Rather, their argument had put them on a precipice. Keith had already jumped, but Lance was taking a step back.

It was better this way. Keith had enough to deal with. The last thing he needed was Lance's problems on top of his own, right? Lance was doing this because it was the wiser decision. Not because… Not because he was too afraid to be an even weaker link than he already was.

"Fine," Keith eventually said, when it was clear that Lance wasn't going to budge any further. Without another word, he turned and marched from the room.

The silence was suffocating. Jaw tight, Lance flopped back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, before reaching into the pocket of his robe and pulling out the tiny pin Coran had given them that morning.

Tapping the front to turn it on, he held it up above his head so as to give it a full view of his pouting face.

"I am, _officially_ , an asshole."

But the camera had nothing to say back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dammit, Lance. So much for good communication. But I suppose not wanting to talk about your depression vs silly miscommunications about lovey-dovey feelings is a little bit different XD


	7. Chapter 7

Keith knew he was in trouble. As always when he found himself in this position, it hit him suddenly—like being run over by a bus. One moment he was in Lance's bed, trying to stay calm and reason out why what they were doing was okay, and the next he was sitting up ramrod straight as his thoughts tried to convince him that he wasn't, indeed, trying to make up excuses for some ulterior motivation.

It was true that, yes, he did indeed sleep better when he was with Lance—there was no point in denying that fact. But that didn't justify why he wanted to stay in bed with the guy all morning, or why he'd suddenly found himself admiring the warm glow of his skin, or why having those long fingers sifting through his hair had left him comfortable and, well, rather turned on.

He didn't know when, exactly, it'd happened. But it had.

Keith had fallen for Lance. Fallen _hard_.

Which wasn't really so out of the ordinary for Keith. Not the falling part, but the falling _hard_ part. He didn't necessarily develop feelings for people all that often, but when he did, it was like he was walking along, just fine, and then a pit opened up under his feet before plummeting him right to the bottom.

He'd spent a good majority of that day pondering the phenomenon, and contemplating exactly what he apparently liked about Lance so much. It didn't take much to figure it out, really.

He liked his confidence, for one—no matter how fool-hardy is was. Then there was the way he was always trying to keep the mood light, even if he was ridiculous in doing so. He was thoughtful when he wasn't acting like a child, and intelligent when he wasn't pretending not to be. Because that was what Keith had realized over the last few days. Lance—like Shiro had implied—was much more complex than he'd initially given credit for. In fact, it seemed that for every facet of Lance that Keith had assumed was real, another part of him existed that was the exact opposite. Like a puzzle that had to be solved, or a corner that hid its other side.

There were other things that helped too. Like his goofy smile and dark blue eyes. The freckles that barely dusted his cheeks and that were only visible when someone was within centimeters of his face. The slight curl to the ends of his hair, as if—should it get much longer—it'd begin to spin a life of its own. He had a beautifully bronzed complexion, and thin, sharp angles to his features.

Then there was the way he moved—like a fish out of water. Not gracefully on land (though his clumsy charm was extremely endearing), but when put in his true element, he was a force to be reckoned with and executed everything he did with the skill and precision of a highly trained dancer.

Keith knew it was cheesy. He knew he was in way over his head. But it was far, far too late. He'd tumbled into that pit without a ladder and now he was stuck there.

Which really, really sucked. His feelings could tell him whatever they pleased, but no matter what he wanted, that didn't change the fact that Keith was fairly certain Lance was straight. He chased enough female-like aliens around to make that fairly clear, and flirted with Allura whenever he had the chance.

But it wasn't like this was a new predicament for Keith. Both boys he'd developed feelings for in the past had turned out to be straight as well, so he hadn't exactly expected much better of himself. Apparently he had a type, and that type was straight, arrogant fuckboy with a pretty smile and stupid pick-up lines.

Okay, so Lance wasn't really a fuckboy, but he sure pretended to be sometimes. In any case, it still stood that Keith had a _problem_. What he should do in this situation—so as to try and take care of it as soon as possible—was stay far, far away from Lance and only interact with him when necessary. But that was hardly plausible with them being two of only seven people he talked with regularly. Also, there was the small detail of Keith apparently being dependent on Lance in order to function.

Basically, he was fucked.

And then Lance had to go and start being a little shit all over again. Okay, yes, strong language maybe, but Keith was annoyed. And, well, a little hurt maybe too. It wasn't like he'd wanted to be reliant on Lance, or that he'd wanted to reveal all his current issues to the other boy. But he _had_ and he'd thought they'd bonded. Only to have Lance turn around and, well, reject him.

It made him feel like he'd had the wool pulled over his eyes, or however that expression went. Which was unfounded, probably. He had to keep reminding himself that Lance had been in a piss-poor mood anyway and that, maybe, he shouldn't have pushed the subject. He wasn't entitled to Lance's feelings, after all.

Mostly he'd just hoped Lance would have trusted him enough to share. But that was probably asking for too much. Whatever change had happened between them was recent. And while it was refreshing, and exciting, for Keith—and though he _wanted_ to be closer to Lance—that didn't necessarily mean the sentiment was mutual.

Once again, he'd jumped to conclusions. He'd gotten too far ahead of himself and now he was paying the price.

Not that Lance wasn't to blame as well. He was being a brat, but that didn't mean Keith felt any better about the situation. Mostly, he was anxious. Had he missed some cue from Lance that they weren't making as much progress as he'd thought? Or, worse, was Lance only helping him because he had to?

No, that couldn't be. Lance had claimed to care about him. And someone who cared about him wouldn't yank his chain.

That wasn't how it worked… right?

He didn't know. He was practically at Lance's mercy, really. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Glaring up at the ceiling of his room, Keith pulled his hands from where he'd had them linked behind his head before turning over on his bed to face the wall.

What was Lance doing at that moment, he wondered. He was probably fine—probably still rushing back and forth to the bathroom. But, like a predictable new pattern, Keith's paranoia began to rise. And like he had multiple times already, he steadied his breathing and pushed it back down.

So now not only was he constantly worried about Lance's wellbeing, but he had this annoying "being in love with him" thing to deal with. Because that was exactly what he'd needed— _more_ anxiety.

Stupid Lance and his stupid, pretty face. And gorgeous smile. And-

 _Ugh_ , fuck.

He didn't… he didn't really want to leave Voltron… did he? The thought only spiked Keith's anxiety further, which caused him to give up doing… whatever it was he was doing in bed (resting? Brooding?). With an angry toss of his legs, he sat up and glared across the room.

Lance wouldn't leave Voltron. He couldn't. He wouldn't just… abandon them like that. That was the worst possible thing he could do—at least in Keith's opinion—and he couldn't fathom that Lance would be capable of something so heartless. Which was, perhaps, why Lance's words had taken him so by surprise. Being part of team Voltron was stressful, yes, but they worked so well together. And they had such a huge responsibility.

Lance was a lot of things, but he wasn't the kind of asshole that would leave such duties behind.

Which could only lead Keith to one conclusion: Somehow or another, he'd misinterpreted Lance's words in his surprised anger.

Yet, no matter how he looked at the situation, he couldn't figure out what else Lance could have meant. He'd been going on about how great everyone else was, like they'd… be able to carry everything on without him? Was that what he'd been implying? That they'd be fine, so he could leave? But Lance wouldn't do that.

Lance _wouldn't leave_.

Shoving himself to his feet, Keith paced a few steps before releasing a guttural growl and heading out into the hall. He slowed as he passed Lance's door, half-temped to drop in, but then yanked his anxiety back and continued his march.

A march that had him rounding a corner and slamming face-first into Hunk. Like one of those comedic scenes in a television show, he'd been so distracted that running into the other paladin actually knocked him off balance, which resulted in him stumbling to the side. Before anything more embarrassing could occur, however, Hunk reached out and easily steadied him by the shoulders—like he was a dried piece of grass that Hunk could stand back on its end.

"Sorry," Hunk apologized, despite having done nothing wrong. "Didn't see you there."

"Uh, yeah, same," Keith managed to reply. "Sorry… also." Truthfully, he never knew what to say to Hunk. The large boy was generally nice, and what few informal conversations they'd had were always civil. But it was clear to a crystal point that Hunk was in Lance's corner all the way, and seeing as Keith and Lance had been constantly at each other's throats until recently, that left Keith a bit unsure how to approach the situation.

He and Hunk were kind of like friends, he supposed. But they didn't have any sort of closeness. Which downed Keith, were he being honest. He wanted, desperately, to be closer to the other paladins, but it was so hard for him to talk to people. They meant so much to him—they were more akin to a family than any he'd ever had—but he just didn't know how to relate to them.

Sometimes the desire to _know_ them was so severe that he could swear he was screaming it, only to swallow and realize he hadn't opened his mouth at all and whoever he'd been about to try and talk to had walked away.

"I was just headed to check on Lance," Hunk admitted, peering past Keith as he tapped his fingers together. "I feel so bad about the food goo."

Keith pooched his lips to one side and tried to think as quickly as he could on what to say. "I, uh, saw him just half an hour ago and he seemed fine." Sort of. "Sick still, but being his usual… Lance-ish self."

"You saw him?" Hunk asked.

"Well, I mean, I checked on him," Keith admitted. "He was running back and forth to the bathroom, but still acting like a total jerk, so I assume he's alright." A bit of an exaggeration, but Keith was still quite sour.

"Yeah, but that doesn't really mean anything," Hunk replied, shrugging. "Lance could be feeling really, really bad, but he'd still tell everyone he was fine. We were roommates back at the Garrison, so I got pretty good at knowing when he was lying. I think I still better check on him." Hunk fidgeted a bit, before freezing and looking down at Keith through wide eyes. "Not- Not to doubt you or anything. Mostly I just want to apologize again, for, you know, poisoning him."

Keith wasn't offended. He knew just as well as everyone else that reading people wasn't his forte and he'd already realized there'd been some kind of miscommunication between himself and Lance during their previous exchange.

"It's fine," Keith assured, shrugging. "He'd probably be glad to see you."

"Er, maybe." Hunk hung his head. "Lance usually likes to keep to himself about these kinds of things. He doesn't like causing people trouble, even if it wasn't his fault."

Keith almost scoffed. "Lance causes trouble all the time."

"Well, yeah, but, like…" Hunk gestured as though fishing for words. "There's Lance-trouble and then there's actual trouble, you know?"

Keith narrowed his eyes. "No?"

Hunk looked like he was going to try and explain further, but then ultimately shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he offered with a bright smile. "You're right, Lance is probably fine." Stepping forward, he patted Keith on the shoulder as he passed. "Glad you're looking better too, by the way."

Keith didn't have the time to figure out a response. Instead, he turned and watched as Hunk headed down toward Lance's door, only feeling all the more like he was seriously missing something. Also, what was up with people not explaining things to him? First Lance and now Hunk? Was there some secret that he wasn't allowed to know?

Why couldn't they just be straight with him? Shiro was and it made everything infinitely easier.

Frowning, Keith watched Hunk disappear into Lance room before continuing on as he'd been initially. He didn't have anywhere to go specifically, and so just walked some around the castle. Not just to give himself something to do, but because activity calmed him more than lying in bed worrying.

That was the second person to say something about Lance not really liking drawing attention to himself in certain ways. First Shiro, then Hunk. Then… Then there was Lance's obvious avoidance during their previous conversation.

What was he avoiding?

Still annoyed and only more confused, Keith eventually found his way to the training room and spent the next two hours battling it out with the robots. It'd already been "late" when he'd started and so he went back to his room to shower before finally finding himself truly victim to his anxieties yet again.

Clad in a black t-shirt that was a few sizes bigger than his normal and the red pajama pants he'd been supplied as the red paladin, he sat on the edge of his bed and contemplated what he was supposed to do.

Sleeping, really, was the logical conclusion. But he already knew that was out of the question without Lance. He'd considered just lying down and trying it, if only because he really, _really_ didn't want to be dependent on Lance, but he could already tell by the jittery crawling of his paranoia that he'd get nowhere.

What was he supposed to do? He and Lance were fighting, right? But, then again, they were always fighting. Part of him whispered that their last clash had been heavier than usual—that it'd meant something—but the anxiety thrumming through him shoved back on that notion, doing its best to convince him to stand and just… barge his way into Lance's room with whatever excuse he could come up with.

He couldn't sleep with Lance again, could he? Lance wouldn't want that, not with how sick he was. And he'd get annoyed with Keith eventually, wouldn't he? Keith should be careful—he didn't want to, what, lose Lance?

No, Lance wasn't going anywhere. And he'd assured Keith in multiple ways that he didn't mind.

Even though they were fighting, he wouldn't mind.

It was okay. It was _fine_.

He could just go check in. Make sure everything was alright and then try and get some sleep. That would make it easier, wouldn't it?

It didn't matter. He was going to check on Lance whether it'd help or not anyway.

Having accepted his own self-defeat, Keith was not the least bit surprised to find himself standing barefoot outside Lance's door with his fist raised to knock. Yet, before he could, he took note of the blue glow on the control panel beside the door. The lights lit up red when the doors were locked and blue when they weren't. Typically, Lance always kept his door locked at night. So did Keith for that matter, so he'd never thought anything of it, but now that the norm was violated, Keith had no choice but to reroute his actions.

Why had Lance left his door unlocked? Had he forgotten to lock it due to being so ill? Or… had he left it unlocked on purpose?

Keith didn't let himself finish that thought, too afraid of the ideas it'd spur in his stomach, which would result I that annoying, fluttering feeling—which he hated. Instead, he decided to strategically take advantage of the change to move the situation forward more advantageously.

The hall was dark with the scheduled "night time hours," so that meant he could probably enter Lance's room without waking him, check on him, and leave again.

Easy. Simple. Way, way better than having to knock.

More apt to act than stall, Keith didn't waste any time in pressing the button to open the doors, thankful the swishing was generally smooth and so wouldn't wake any inhabitants. The room beyond was even darker than the hall, and so it took Keith's eyes a moment to adjust as he entered. The doors closed behind him, leaving him to stalk toward the bed and make sure Lance was still breathing.

He could see Lance's form curled up on the bed, covered in the blankets and without his typical face and eye masks. He was bundled up in a cocoon, lips pulled into a frown as he slept.

But Keith could see the rising expansion of the blanket as he breathed, and so tried to reason with himself that it was enough. He'd checked and now he could leave.

Just turn around and go right back out the way he'd come.

Yet… he didn't.

Instead, he stood beside the bed and bit his bottom lip, hands twisting together in front of him.

And like his moment of vulnerability had allowed a single knife to slip through, the one thought he'd been trying to avoid finally ran through his head.

What if Lance had left the door unlocked for him?

The idea sent his heart beating faster, which was stupid. Even if Lance had left the door unlocked for him, it wasn't for any other reason than why he'd let Keith sleep with him the previous night, which meant there was no point in getting so school-girlishly excited.

Still, Lance… Lance might not mind if he stayed. He hadn't minded the night before and that was after Keith had puked all over him. Besides, the most that could happen was that Lance would wake up and tell him to leave.

But there was no reason not to try.

Ignoring how small and powerless the whole situation made him feel, Keith sidled up close to the bed before hesitantly bending down enough to set a hand on the Lance-cocoon.

He didn't want to wake Lance. If he could just… lay down beside him…

No, he'd definitely wake up. Better to just face the whole predicament head on, like always.

Dragging his hand down the the front of the cocoon, Keith considered saying something—trying to wake Lance as gently as possible—but couldn't find the gumption to stop biting his own lip. Instead, he ended up finding the edge of the blanket near the mattress. Pulling it up a bit, he made a split-second decision and dove straight for the follow-through.

Pulling the blanket up enough to give himself room, he was soon sliding under the covers beside Lance, trying to do the task as delicately as he could. But, really, there was no gentle way to crawl into bed with someone and he knew as soon as his weight hit the mattress that he was disrupting everything. And it was only when he was halfway in, heart pounding nervously, that he caught sight of Lance's half-lidded eyes watching him.

Of course he was caught—it was stupid to think he wouldn't be—but it sent his heart into his throat nonetheless.

This was it, the moment where he'd learn he really had crossed a line and all the progress he'd made with Lance would crumble.

Yet, still, he pushed forward. Because that was what Keith did. Pushing forward was the only thing he knew, really. Push forward, keep moving, and he didn't have to stop to think overly hard about anything.

So he continued to crawl into bed beside Lance, blinking as their eyes remained locked until, finally, Keith was completely under the covers as well.

Which was when Lance took a deep, sleepy breath, closed his eyes again, and scooted back—as if to give Keith more space.

But space was, honestly, the last thing Keith wanted. And if Lance hadn't objected yet, then he might as well keep going.

Sliding with Lance away from the edge, Keith cuddled up close to him. Until he was able to feel his nose brushing Lance's shirt. He didn't look up at Lance's face—a little too afraid to—but was put at ease when one of those long, thin yet muscular arms came up and reached around him.

Holding him.

And so—like he eventually had the night before—Keith gave in. He dissolved into Lance willingly, pulling his own arm up to hug Lance back while he pressed his face more fully into his chest.

Lance's heart beat steadily, as Keith knew it would.

"Your hair's wet," Lance said groggily above him, his words accented by a yawn. "But you smell nice."

Which was the last thing Keith remembered before falling dead asleep. He dozed off faster than he had in over a month, the sensation of Lance's beating heart akin to a lullaby. It didn't fix everything—he could still feel the anxiety and the nightmares creeping in—but when it became too much, he'd come close enough to waking to calm himself, remind himself that Lance was there and okay, and devolve back into slumber.

Until at some point—he didn't know exactly when—Lance pushed him away and got up. Which woke Keith immediately (he wasn't nearly so desperate for sleep that he'd remain unaware of such things, unlike previously). He blinked against the darkness and watched as Lance stretched clumsily over him, obviously aiming to get up completely. As soon as he'd cleared his Keith-hurdle and was on the floor, he was headed to the bathroom.

Where he stayed for at least thirty minutes.

Keith remained wide-eyed the whole time, waiting and thankful that, where his body was awake, his thoughts were still lagging. Lance was back before his brain could work itself up too much, Keith glancing over as he padded from the bathroom to the bed.

"Scoot over," Lance murmured quietly, despite there being no one he would wake. "I might have to get up again and I don't want to be crawling over you every time."

Which made sense. If Lance was still suffering side effects of the goo, it'd only be tedious for Keith to be on the outside. He scooted over to where Lance had previously been laying, the bed still warm and hazy with his salty, sea-like smell. Which distracted Keith's sleepy brain momentarily, his head snuggling a bit into Lance's pillow while the other boy slipped into bed behind him.

And so Keith didn't turn over in time to snuggle back up to Lance before Lance was snuggling up to him. Long arms wrapping around him, Keith nearly squeaked in surprise when Lance spooned him from behind. Bodies lined perfectly, Keith lay stiff for a few seconds before forcing himself to calm down.

He'd never slept with anyone this way before. When they'd been younger, he'd slept with Shiro plenty, but it was usually a "Keith clings to Shiro while Shiro dozes unaware" kind of deal. Keith had never been spooned in his life.

It was nice though, having his back protected. Lance's soft breath was splashing against the back of his neck and the feeling of his chest rising and falling was a nice rhythm against Keith's back.

It was better than nice, really. But that wasn't something he should be thinking about.

"Hey, you awake?" Lance whispered a second later, nearly causing Keith to jump.

"Y-Yeah," he managed to get out, his hands curled under the side of his head atop the pillow. He kind of wanted to line his arms with Lance's around his body, but was worried that'd suggest way more than what was happening. And he didn't want to create distance between them.

Lance hummed, hugging Keith a bit tighter before continuing. "I'm sorry about earlier," he admitted, tone subdued. "I don't want to leave Voltron and I never meant to make you think that. I was just… feeling sorry for myself. It won't happen again."

Keith didn't respond right away, mostly because he wasn't sure how to. He appreciated Lance's apology, kind of, but that didn't exactly explain anything that had happened. Once again, he felt as though Lance was avoiding the real subject and hoping Keith wouldn't pursue it, even if he was trying to be civil. Which Keith supposed he could do nothing about. As he'd realized earlier, maybe he didn't have any business intruding. Perhaps the better decision to make would be to take Lance's apology as sincere and drop it.

He didn't want to, but he also didn't want to push Lance away.

"It's fine," he finally replied, ignoring the urge to question Lance further. But maybe… Maybe there was something he could say to make it a little better? What would Lance say to _him_ , after all? Or Hunk? Or Shiro? "Um… You know though, if something is bothering you, you can… tell me."

Was that enough? Or maybe too much?

Why was he so bad at this?

"There's nothing worth telling, trust me," Lance replied.

Keith considered such words, and his own, very carefully. "I don't know what you think is worth it or not, but I think everything you have to say is worth something." He paused. "Well, not _everything_ —because sometimes you act like an idiot and I don't quite understand why—but I don't think this is like that and I'll listen to anything you have to say."

Behind him, Lance had chuckled a bit, but the sound was oddly hollow. "What if I am being an idiot though?" he whispered.

"How about you just be honest and I'll tell you if you're being an idiot."

Another laugh, though this one sounded a bit more real than the last, which brought some relief to the small smile Keith allowed himself in the darkness.

"But… what if you think differently of me?"

Keith blinked, yet again having to roll the words around in his head before replying. What he wouldn't give for Lance to just say what he meant. "I guess I don't understand the question," he admitted. "You're you, Lance, no matter what."

"What if that's the problem?" His voice was so quiet—so meek—that Keith could barely hear, despite the words being within a hair's breadth of his ear.

"There is no problem then," Keith determined, still not entirely sure where all this was going.

"But what if there _is_?"

"What kind of problem could you being you possibly be?" Keith asked, Lance's persistence on the subject finally clearing a bit of the fog. That, and Lance's own words about all of them needing a little help sometimes echoed in the back of his thoughts. "We all have our faults. None of us is perfect. We all screw up." As if his own words were spelling it out for him, Keith could finally begin to connect some of the pieces. "Shiro and I may be good pilots or whatever, but so are you. And you've got better aim than all of us combined, _and_ you have really good plans when you're not acting like a doofus. You're just as important to the team as any of us."

"But… But what if I'm _not_ …"

Keith pursed his lips. "You have no idea what you're saying," he said, tone a bit clipped. "You don't know what it was like when you were messed up that whole month. The entire team fell apart. And I don't mean Voltron itself. You're, like, the only one of us that keeps things kind of normal around here. Without you, it was like… like everything just… became impossible." He didn't know any other way to describe it, the sense of… quietness that overcame everyone. "It was so… apparent that space really was this huge, empty void and we were all probably gonna die in it. You and your idiotic antics somehow manage to keep that reality at bay a lot of the time."

Lance tightened his hold, his knees bending a bit into Keith's. "And you think that makes a big difference?"

"Of course it does. We couldn't do half of what we do without you. You're not… you're not replaceable, Lance. You're here for a reason, just like the rest of us, and you're just as crucial to what we do as Shiro or Pidge or anyone."

"Even if I sometimes act like an idiot?" he asked, though there was something very broken about his voice. It made Keith want to turn to him, but he didn't. He couldn't tell how far he could push _whatever_ it was they were doing.

"We're all idiots sometimes," he reasoned.

"I guess…" Lance's tone didn't sound wholly convinced, but Keith didn't really know what else to say. As far as he figured, what he'd said was the absolute, indisputable truth that no one else on the team would disagree with. Yet here Lance was, sounding only moderately convinced.

What exactly was he dealing with? Did he really think himself so inferior to everyone else on the team?

 _Why_?

"Thanks," he eventually said.

"For what?" Keith asked. "All I did was tell the truth."

A statement that garnered no response. The stretching silence—as well as Lance's constant presence—eventually lulled Keith back to sleep. He woke up a few more times during the night—twice when Lance got back up to go to the bathroom, and once when he'd begun to sweat heavily and had to be shaken awake.

So it was actually one of the better nights he'd had in a while, all things considered. He was awakened lastly when Lance got up to get ready for the morning, though he remained dozing a bit in bed as Lance bustled around the room. Oddly enough, he really wasn't the "stay in bed" type, but being in Lance's bed—surrounded in warmth and the breezy smell of him—made it harder and harder to be more interested in training.

"You gonna get up or what?" Lance eventually asked, slamming himself down on the bed so hard that Keith's body actually bounced up a bit. He threw out a glare as a result, but didn't move. "C'mon, seriously. We have a lot of training to get to today—though to be honest I never thought I'd be the one having to say this to you. Usually it's the other way around."

"Don't lecture me," Keith muttered. "I'll get up."

Pause.

Lance cleared his throat. "So, like, sometime soon or…?"

"Quit bothering me." Taking the blanket, Keith threw up over Lance's head. "I have lots of time."

"Like, half an hour maybe," Lance quipped as he pulled the blanket off and rearranged his hair.

"Not all of us take an eternity to get ready in the morning."

"I'm sorry I like to be prepared in case we meet any highly evolved civilizations that take an interest in me."

Keith scoffed. "Highly evolved. Yeah, okay."

Lance huffed, before reaching out and smacking his hand on Keith's bare stomach—where his shirt had been riding up. "I said," slap, "get up," slap.

"Hey! Stop it!" He shoved Lance's hand away. "Why do you care anyway?"

"Uh, one, because I'm not a jerk who lets people sleep in when they shouldn't." He eyed Keith knowingly. "And two, you're in my room and maybe I don't trust you in here alone."

"Trust me? With what, your numerous valuables?" He gestured around the empty room.

"Hey! Don't dis! I happen to be going for a minimalistic aesthetic, _okay_? Besides, you seem like the type that would somehow booby-trap my bed or something. Probably make it eat me alive or tell me how lazy I am over and over again."

"I wouldn't booby-trap your bed," Keith replied through a yawn. "I sleep here too."

The words were out before he could take them back, his posture going rigid while his eyes popped wide in shock. That was out of line, wasn't it? He'd only slept there two nights. He shouldn't have said that. Oh no, oh no-

"I guess that's true," Lance agreed, seeming completely unaware of Keith's mental breakdown. "But there's still the dresser, or the bathroom. Nope, nope, you have to get up." He slapped Keith on the stomach once again, both startling him out of his panic and causing him to sit up in alarm.

"Could you not?" he asked, his anxiety dwindling in the face of irritation. Apparently Lance wasn't taken aback. Or, if he was, he was hiding it. Which, Keith was learning, was a highly plausible possibility.

"Don't be such a sourpuss, Kitten," Lance replied, tapping him lightly, patronizingly, on the cheek. "It's a new dawn, a new day, and the blackness of space is waiting."

"I happen to like the blackness of space," Keith defended petulantly.

"Oh I figured, what with the Hot Topic theme and all. So did you buy those fingerless gloves or cut them yourself?"

"You're an ass."

"I need to know. For science. So I can accurately measure the true level of your emo-ness."

"Oh, wow, how original. Because I've never been called that before."

"Really? That's a shocker."

"Fuck you."

"Oh wow, Keith." Lance fanned his face with his hand. "Take a girl to dinner first."

"Jokes on you. I'd never take a girl to dinner."

"Why? You have something against dinner?"

"You're an idiot."

"Oh! Was that supposed to be a joke about you being _gay_? Or your way of coming out to me? Because, like, that cat was let out of the bag a long time ago." Keith glared, lips pooching. "Not that it wasn't obvious. I saw the way you were looking at Rolo that one time. And, no offense, but you could stand to stare a little less at Shiro when he's working out."

"I'm trying to mimic his form!"

"Admire it, more like."

Reaching back, Keith grabbed a pillow and thwacked Lance across the face with it, which caused the taller boy to squawk and topple atop the mattress.

"Don't harass me about my sexuality," Keith stated. Though, to be honest, he wasn't upset. Not like he'd been hiding it. True that, unlike _some_ people he knew, he didn't go flaunting his interest around to every available specimen, but it also wasn't, say, the year 2017 or something—not like he had to hide it in the first place.

"Are you accusing me of poor workplace behavior?" Lance asked, grabbing the pillow in Keith's hand and ripping it away, before promptly tossing it to the side.

"You said it, not me. But I'll probably go to HR." Crossing his arms, Keith sniffed and looked away.

"I don't think Coran wants to hear about you ogling Captain Dad."

"I do not ogle him!" Keith hissed. "He's like an older brother to me, okay?!"

"Damn, okay! Jeez. Even I can admit Shiro's good looking. No need to get your diaper in a twist."

"I hate you so much sometimes."

"Aw, c'mon!" Lance said, grinning as he leaned closer and prodded Keith in the ribs with his elbow. "You know you love me. I even had you joking a second ago! C'mon, _c'mon_ , don't be a buzzkill."

"I am a professional buzz killer."

Lance laughed. "Well, remind me not to take you out drinking ever."

"You say that like you've got so much experience 'out drinking.'"

"Hey! More than you probably!"

"Zero plus zero is still zero."

Lance frowned. "You really are a wet blanket…"

"I'm a realist."

"That's the worst kind of person, no offense."

"You're a jerk, _no offense_."

" _You're_ a jerk!"

"Oh wow, what a great comeback. How old are you, six?"

"I'm nineteen! Older than you!"

"You don't know how old I am."

"I do! You were a prodigy back at the Garrison and skipped a grade, which means you're a teeny, tiny, eighteen-year-old kitten." Reaching out, Lance went to pinch his cheeks, but Keith swatted him away.

"Better to be younger than an old man and no wiser for it."

"Hey, that's enough, kid." Reaching out, Lance clapped his hand over Keith's lips before he could dodge the assault. "Respect your elders."

Keith considered simply pulling away, but was overtaken by a stir of childishness instead, which spurred him to stick his tongue out and lick Lance's hand rather than any other more logical course of action. Yet, the move didn't seem to have any effect on his attacker, who just pursed his lips and cocked a skeptical eyebrow.

"Really? That's, like, a level 3 sibling move. And I'm, like, a level 99 older brother. Please up your game or don't join the fight at all."

So Keith bit him.

"Ah! Fuck!" Hand yanked back, Lance waved it around like he'd burned it. All the while, Keith smirked. "You fucking bit me! Who does that?!"

"Last I checked, cats," Keith replied smugly.

"Good thing I'm a dog person, then," Lance said through gritted teeth, before reaching out and shoving Keith by the shoulders. Which, of course, inspired Keith to growl and push back. Naturally, it only escalated the situation further. Until they were yelping and scratching and tumbling off the bed in a pile of blankets and failing arms.

Thankfully, Lance was right and Keith did excel at physical combat, which meant he was easily able to get into a position in which Lance was stuck on his stomach while Keith straddled his back and pulled his arm around into a locked position.

"Augh! Okay, okay! I give up!" Lanced pleaded.

Which Keith knew better than to believe. They'd sparred enough for Keith to know when Lance was really ready to give up and when he was just trying to play the situation to his own advantage.

"You're wrong, by the way," Keith muttered, resituating himself so he could jab his knee into Lance's spine. Which had the other boy growling in outrage. "I'm not eighteen."

"What?!"

"According to Pidge's Earth calendar, I'm still seventeen for another month."

"WHAT?!"

"I entered the Garrison a year ahead too, what with Shiro being my mentor." He twisted his knee harder. "Guess that means you're twice as pathetic for letting me beat you up, seeing as I'm a _kitten_ and all."

"You're seventeen?!" Lance blurted. "You're a baby just like Pidge-ahhHHHH!"

"Call me a baby again and I'll break your arm."

"Okay, okay!" Lance relented, breathing hard. So, finally, Keith released him. Scooting to the side, he plopped down on the floor and caught his breath while Lance sat up.

"Wow, seventeen," he said, breathing hard. "Guess it doesn't make a difference though, really."

"What do you mean?"

"Doesn't matter how young you are, I'm still the oldest paladin after Shiro."

"How old is Hunk?"

"Eighteen."

"Oh." Keith shrugged. "Well, I'm practically eighteen." He eyed Lance curiously. "But you and Hunk were in the same year, right? Aren't you guys nearly the same age?"

"Hunk turns nineteen in, like, five months," Lance replied, leaning back against the bed as he did. "And, well…" Looking somewhat uncomfortable, he turned his attention to the floor, fiddling with his jacket in the same moment.

"What?" Keith asked.

"You have to promise not to laugh."

Keith furrowed his eyebrows curiously. "Okay…"

Taking a deep breath, Lance spared a moment to gather himself before speaking. "I actually turn, er, twenty in six months…"

"Twenty? That soon?" Keith asked, surprised. Sure, there wasn't a big difference between nineteen and twenty, but somehow he hadn't anticipated the number, at least not in a fashion that made Lance a whole year older than Hunk. Lance was just so… _Lance_. Not exactly a paragon of maturity even though he was taller than Shiro these days and broader in build, if not in musculature.

"Yeah…" Lance rolled his eyes, though the gesture was seemingly directed at himself. "I, uh, failed the entrance exam when I first applied to the Garrison. So I ended up starting a year later than everyone else."

"Really? But I thought the Garrison didn't usually allow people who'd failed the written test to reapply."

"They don't," Lance confirmed. "But I managed to plead my case to the board of directors because of my language barrier. That's why I failed. My English wasn't good enough when I took the test and after a year of intense study, they let me retake it."

A story Keith knew all too well. "That's just like Shiro," he stated.

Lance looked up in surprise, nose slightly curled. "Huh?"

"Shiro," Keith repeated. "He failed his first time applying to the Garrison too, because his English wasn't good enough." English was the standard language used in all of Earth's global space programs (and apparently in the rest of space as well?). "He started a year later too. That was probably why they let you retake it—there was already a precedent."

"Shiro _failed_?" Lance asked, beyond shocked.

"Yeah. He grew up in rural Japan, so he didn't learn it bilingually like most Japanese kids do." Most kids on Earth learned English due to their parents speaking it fluently along with their native tongue. It was the language of globalization and so was a normalized aspect of education and family households. Except for people like Shiro, who grew up in small towns with extremely limited exposure.

"That's like me," Lance admitted, laughing a bit as he did. "My parents speak a bit of English, and my siblings do well enough, but it's mostly Spanish." Pulling his legs up to his chest, he leaned his head on his knees. "My English was so bad when I first started at the Garrison, even after all that studying I did. If it weren't for Hunk, I'd probably still have an accent."

"You're from…Cuba, right?"

"Yup!" Lance grinned. "Nice beaches, beautiful ocean views, and a stereotypically huge, noisy family."

Keith smiled a bit. "Sounds nice."

"Yeah, I miss it…" Lance appeared momentarily saddened, before abruptly clearing his throat and putting his attention back on Keith. "What about you though, huh? You didn't always live in that pathetic desert shack, did you?"

"Hey, I happen to like my shack, thank you very much."

Lance looked doubtful, but Keith decided to simply press on and ignore him.

"No, I didn't always live there," he confirmed. "Just after I was kicked out of the Garrison."

"And before that?"

"I lived in the dorms, like you."

"Now you're just being evasive," Lance determined, reaching out and shoving his shoulder lightly. Keith had half a mind to tell him it was no different than he'd been the day before, but decided it was probably better not to reopen that mess.

"Before that?" he shrugged. "Foster care."

Lance, like most people he told, appeared abruptly uncomfortable. "Oh."

"It's alright," Keith assured, offering a small smile. "I've been an orphan long enough to be used to it." Yet Lance still seemed uncertain. But perhaps that was reasonable. Their backgrounds were so different. Keith couldn't even begin to fathom what Lance's childhood had been like. But he didn't mind talking about his. It was what it was, after all. No point denying it. "My father was Korean, but I don't remember ever living in Korea. Mostly we lived in the western and southern parts of the U.S. He taught me a bit of Korean, but I grew up speaking English. I don't remember a whole lot from that far back, but up until he died—when I was nine—I remember moving around all the time. He wasn't really the most… supportive parent and I used to be alone a lot. He was always busy just… searching."

Lance scooted a little closer to him. "Searching for what?"

"He never really told me," Keith replied, shrugging. "But he used to carry around all this crazy equipment and we'd end up staying in hotels. I don't quite remember all the places we went, but I spent a lot of time in a car. And outside. With everything that's happened though, I think I finally realize what he was looking for, maybe…"

"…Keith?"

"I think he was looking for my mother," he replied quietly. "He didn't talk about her much, but when he did, he always got this… sad look on his face. And I have vague memories of seeing him outside hotel room windows, surrounded in his equipment just looking up at the stars." He shrugged. "Now that I know the truth about me, I guess it makes sense."

There was a pause in which Keith heard Lance swallow, before he spoke. "What happened to him, your father?" he asked.

"Heart attack," Keith explained, shrugging. "Worked himself to death I guess. He never slept much, not from what I can remember. It happened while we were in Texas, which is how I ended up in the foster care system near the Garrison. I had my father's name, but other than that, no clue who my family was or anything. And obviously I didn't know anyone on my maternal side, what with the whole Galra thing…"

"Yeah, that makes sense," Lance agreed.

Keith took a deep breath. "But that was a long time ago. I met Shiro while I was in foster care. He was in one of the Garrison volunteer outreach programs and ended up as my mentor or whatever."

"And you guys have been best bros ever since, huh?" Lance asked, smiling in what Keith supposed was an overacting effort to lighten the mood.

"Er, yeah, something like that." Keith rubbed the back of his neck, feeling abruptly uncomfortable.

"What?" Lance asked, bumping him with his shoulder.

But what was on the tip of Keith's tongue was something he'd never told a living soul—not even Shiro. Sometimes he got the feeling that Shiro knew, but they'd never actually talked about it. The closest they'd come was during the Marmora Trials, and even then it was a far stretch from actually addressing the subject. Really, there'd never been a reason for them to actually address it—it wouldn't have changed anything.

Yet, Keith found himself wanting to tell Lance. Normally, Shiro was who he opened up to, but it was like Lance had turned the knob and now everything inside him was flowing freely and out of his control. He wanted to be close to Lance—wanted to let him in. He wanted to be close with the whole team, but he just didn't know how. Yet, here was Lance, taking an interest and giving him a chance.

He had to take advantage of it. He _wanted_ to.

"You can't tell anyone this," he murmured. "Especially Shiro. I mean, I think he knows, but… we've never talked about it."

"Oh…" Lance blinked in surprise, before his expression became shrewdly intent. "A Keith Secret not even Shiro knows? I'm all ears."

"Don't be a dick."

"I'm not! But is this one of your conspiracy theories again? Because if it is, I'm going to be really disappointed."

"Says the guy who didn't believe in aliens," Keith deadpanned.

Lance clicked his tongue. "Whatever. Just spill already."

Keith sighed. Then he straightened and tried to find the right words. "I met Shiro when he was still a cadet at the Garrison. Right after he first got in. We were pretty close from the get-go and when things with my foster parents went south, I lived with him. It was during his second year, when he had an apartment on scholarship, so it was okay. But I never really understood why he was so interested in me. I mean, some volunteers stayed in touch with their mentorees, but Shiro was really adamant with me. At first I hated it, because he was always checking in on me and keeping me out of trouble. But I kind of put the pieces together later.

"Shiro missed his mom and his family when he was at the Garrison, so he talked about them a lot. Which led to him explaining that he'd never known his father. All he knew for sure was that the man had abandoned them a year after he'd been born and that, while his mother never said a word on the subject, his grandparents said a lot of nasty things about his father. Which was how Shiro had learned his father was Korean. They used to complain about his lineage I guess." Keith could tell by the way Lance suddenly gaped that he knew where Keith was going with this. "It wasn't until Shiro told me his father's surname—the only concrete thing he knew about him—that I kind of started to suspect it too. But it made sense. I mean, Shiro is… He looks _just like_ my dad. Except for the eyes."

"So, wait, wait, wait." Lance raised his hands. "But if Shiro and you are actually related, how would he have realized?"

"I'm not sure exactly. But I think his mom and… and his father—my father—I think they talked some even after he left. Maybe… maybe he knew about me, or- or something."

"So you're sure Shiro knows?"

"Yeah, I think so. We've never talked about it, but… but I'm pretty sure."

"That's, like, the kind of sibling reunion you here about in the news," Lance commented, still looking quite in awe of the whole thing. "But why haven't you guys talked about it?"

Keith shrugged. "What point would there be? Whether it's true or not, it doesn't make a difference."

"Well… I guess…"

"Besides, what if we did talk about it, but then it ended up not being true?"

"Huh." Lance slumped back. "I guess that would be kind of shitty."

"Yeah. It's stupid, but it's, like, easier this way. I guess. I don't know." Keith shrugged, slumping a bit in on himself. Expressing something so personal left him vulnerable, more so than he'd anticipated, and he was uncertain how Lance was going to react.

"It's kind of crazy though, don't you think?" Lance asked. "How this whole thing has worked out." Keith cast him a curious look. "Like, we're fighting the Galra, and you're Galra, and you and Shiro might actually be brothers. And Shiro was on the same research team as Pidge's brother. Pidge, who was on the same simulation team as Hunk and me. Hunk and me, who've been roommates since we started at the Garrison. And, I mean, we were in the same class as you for a while, even if you don't remember. And I always admired Shiro. And then he was kidnapped by the Galra. It's just… weird, how it all came together."

"Allura said it was fate."

"But do you believe that?"

Keith shrugged. "I don't know. I'm hardly in a position to be commenting on the workings of the universe."

"I guess that's true…" Lance sighed, stretching his neck to the side before looking Keith's way again. "You know," he started. "I think this is the most you've ever talked to me. I didn't even know you were capable of talking so much."

Keith cast him a flat look. "Because you've always put so much effort into trying to talk to me?"

"Right…" Lance popped his lips. "That's fair."

"It's not all your fault," Keith admitted. "I have a hard time… relating to people anyway. But you probably realized that."

"Uh, I had an inkling, yeah." He laughed. "Though, I'll admit, for a while I just figured you were a stuck-up snob that thought he was better than everyone else."

"What?"

Lance shrugged. "That's how you come across sometimes."

"Great…"

"But hey, no one here thinks that, not anymore anyway." He slung an arm around Keith's shoulders. "And you got me. I'll talk up them hot space boys for you."

"Please don't."

"Get you some space tail."

"Stop it."

"Pick up some dudes in your lion."

"You can't pick up dudes in a lion."

"Sure you can. Maybe two or three dudes at once."

"Just get out."

"This is _my_ room."

"I don't care."

"You can't kick me out of my own room."

"Yes I can."

"You wanna bet? Go ahead and try it, Kitten." Lance stuck out his tongue, waggling it childishly.

And so Keith reached up and pulled on the offensive appendage, which had Lance squawking and chasing him out the door as he sprinted deftly toward his own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See how many of you catch the reference ;D
> 
> Sharing is caring, boys, sharing is caring. Silly boys *sigh*


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains a depressive episode and could be triggering.

While it hadn't been something Lance would have anticipated, he'd definitely grown used to the process by that point. It'd been nearly a week since he'd first hefted Keith down the hall and forced him to sleep in his room. Every night since, he'd been one of two bodies crammed in his bed. Keith was pretty skinny though—like him—so they were usually comfortable enough. Not that it mattered. Like a cat following sunlight, Keith could stretch and cuddle his way into any space and be comfortable. Whereas Lance didn't care who was getting comfortable on top of him so long as he could sleep.

It was a system that worked out quite well actually, even if Keith needed to be woken up once or twice a night as a result of oncoming nightmares. Lance could tell when they were getting to him, because he'd start to breathe tighter, and get hot and sweaty, which generally woke Lance up. He'd shake Keith awake, pet his hair till he calmed down, and then go back to sleep.

No, it wasn't top-grade, but it worked. Which, in the end, was all that really mattered.

Settled into the couch in the castle common room, Lance was laying on his back, shoes off and knees bent as he stared down at the handheld gaming device Allura had given each of them. It wasn't gaming like Earth gaming, but filled with diversions that had been created for the soul purpose of educating them and strengthening their minds (or the minds of alteans, once upon a time). Lance wouldn't say the experience was exactly fun, but it was a distraction. Something to do when there was nothing else in the vast emptiness of space.

Also, it was a little like studying, so Coran wouldn't bother him to clean anything if he was playing. And seeing as he didn't feel particularly interested in doing anything he didn't have to lately…

He was right in the middle of a particularly annoying virtual block puzzle when a new distraction came waltzing in from the front side of the room. The doors whooshed open and, suddenly, Lance wasn't alone anymore. Not that he minded—he didn't particularly like being alone, but had grown to appreciate it by force during the last year. Most of the other paladins were the introverted types, which meant they needed their personal time to tinker with their technology or deal with their demons. Which Lance could respect, even if it did leave him bored out of his mind.

As of then, it was Shiro and Keith that were walking in. They were side by side, speaking too quietly to one another for Lance to make anything out. He watched them nonetheless, his focus falling to comparisons whether he liked it or not.

Truth be told, Shiro and Keith didn't really look anything alike, aside from the fact that they both happened to be Asian. Yet Keith was so certain they were related. Lance didn't doubt him, of course, but it mostly implied that: if Shiro looked like their dad, then Keith must look like his mother or something. Like a Galra.

Lance didn't think Keith really looked much like a Galra though. He was tiny compared to them, really, and even kind of small for a human—at least in build if not in the muscle he'd worked for. Then again, there had been that time after Shiro had disappeared when they'd been talking to Kolivan. He'd called Keith some kind of term in Galran that Allura had roughly translated to "runt." It sounded rude, obviously, and Allura hadn't been too pleased.

But Keith didn't know about that—neither Lance nor Allura had told him of the insult. The only reason Lance knew was because he'd been listening closely enough to ask later. And Allura had been irritated enough to tell him.

It didn't matter what the Galra thought of Keith though, he was still a Voltron paladin and that made him way more awesome than those Marmora guys would ever be.

Whatever, that was quite beside the point. The _point_ was that Lance was trying to find anything small between Shiro and Keith that implied they were related, but was having some serious trouble. Only for them both to pause in their march, turn toward one another, cross their arms, and wait stubbornly for the other to say something.

Okay, maybe they could be related after all. But whatever it was they were discussing, they were clearly arguing. So Lance did the polite thing and looked away, hoping they wouldn't notice him what with the downward angle of the couches and the other pieces of furniture spotting the room.

"Everything is fine," he eventually heard Keith snap, tone louder and like he was trying just as hard to be convincing of the statement as he was saying it. The sound of marching footsteps echoed through the room shortly after, before there was another whoosh of the doors.

Shiro was still there though—Lance heard him release a weary sigh.

Supposing it was none of his business what Shiro and Keith had been fighting about, since they were _brothers_ and all, Lance forcefully kept his mouth shut and refocused on his game. He could practice restraint when he wanted to, after all.

"Oh, Lance." Shiro had walked further into the room, coming to a surprised halt when he finally noticed him there. Apparently he was doing a fine job of blending in with the couch. "I didn't realize you were in here. Keith was actually just… looking for you."

Lance set his gaming device on his chest and shrugged, giving Shiro his full attention. "He'll probably find me then," he replied. "He's a pretty determined dude."

"Uh, yeah… he is…" Shiro actually appeared a bit uncomfortable, eyebrows furrowed, before he stepped down toward the couches and took up a position on the one across from Lance. "Do you mind?" he asked. "I'd like to talk to you."

"Sure thing, Bossman," Lance replied, happy to put his game aside in favor of someone _wanting_ to talk to him. Sitting up, he put his socked feet on the ground and tapped his fingers against his knees in anticipation. He was kind of starved for some attention, were he being totally honest. They'd spent nearly the whole day training and when they'd come back, Pidge and Hunk had disappeared to work on some boring computer project and Keith hadn't even been around to bother.

"Don't call me that," Shiro said flatly.

"No problem, Space Dad."

Shiro released another sigh and Lance grinned.

"I've been meaning to speak with you for a few days, actually," he continued, pushing forward. "About Keith, that is."

Lance played dumb. "What about him?"

"He's been a lot better lately," Shiro stated simply, as if that should explain his purpose.

Lance shrugged. "Yeah, looks that way."

"Lance…"

"What?"

Shiro cast him the most disappointed dad look he good muster. But, unfortunately for him, Lance was very familiar with both mom and dad looks, so he didn't budge under the pressure. He had a lot of respect for Shiro—admired him and even considered him an idol—but he wasn't about to buckle beneath him like a child.

"What did you do to calm Keith down?" he finally asked.

Lance pondered his answer before ultimately deciding he probably shouldn't give one. "Look, I'm not trying to be difficult, really," he raised his hands defensively, "but if Keith hasn't told you himself, I don't think it's my place to." Keith was dealing with a lot of shit and if he wasn't keeping Shiro updated, Lance wasn't about to open the box prematurely. Yes, he was a lot of things—loud, obnoxious, relatively useless—but he wasn't a shitty friend when he could help it.

"I don't understand why it's some big secret," Shiro confessed, sounding frustrated. "You two aren't doing anything you shouldn't be, are you?"

An implication Lance was uncertain how to interpret. "Uh… like what?"

"I don't _know_ , that's the issue here," Shiro went on, looking increasingly worried. "I don't understand why Keith won't tell me. Or why you won't, for that matter."

It was Lance's turn to sigh. "It's really not a big deal," he confessed, voice somewhat meek. He didn't normally talk to Shiro like this, so it was a bit unnerving. He didn't really talk to Shiro personally, period. "What's going on with Keith is under control, I promise. You don't need to worry."

A statement that Shiro, apparently, didn't much appreciate. "Keith has been suffering from severe symptoms and they don't just go away."

"I know that," Lance said, fidgeting some. "But we've got it under control."

"How?"

Lance pursed his lips.

"This isn't a game, Lance."

"Of course it's not," he agreed, unable to hide the hurt in his tone as he shied back. "I'd never think that…" Did Shiro really think so lowly of him? That'd he'd play with something as fragile as Keith's mental state? Especially when he was the cause of the problem in the first place? "I'd never allow him to be in danger, you know. If he wasn't okay, I'd tell you…"

A statement that had Shiro opening his mouth to speak, but was followed by no words. Instead, he clamped his jaws shut rather forcefully and sat back. "You're right, I'm sorry," he said after a few moments of tense silence. "I just… I've been concerned about him, that's all. And… And it's not that often that he hides things from me."

"I don't think he's hiding," Lance murmured, still rather uncertain. "I think some things are just… hard to talk about." He knew that better than anyone, really.

"Oh I know," Shiro agreed, understanding in his tone. "But I suppose I'm just… accustomed to him always coming to me about his problems."

Lance dared to chuckle. "Older brother complex, huh? Yeah I get that."

Shiro scoffed.

And Lance, eyes popping wide, tried to correct himself. "Not that you're Keith's, you know, real older brother or-or anything like that." Shiro narrowed his eyes. "I-I mean, that would be, er, crazy… or something." Shit, in his efforts to correct himself, he'd overcompensated and made it worse.

Maybe he wasn't such a great friend after all. Shit, shit, _fuck_!

" _Right_ …" Shiro said after a moment. "You and Keith… You two seem to be getting along better recently."

"Uh, w-well, that's a weird thing to think." Lance laughed a little too forcefully. "Because, I mean, he's still got an ugly mullet and his gloves are still stupid. So I don't see any reason why we'd be getting along better or-"

"Lance, it's okay, I get it," Shiro interrupted, holding up his hand as he did. "I won't ask any more questions. Whatever it is that Keith doesn't want to tell me, it's fine. I… I trust you." Lance blinked, lips parting in surprise. "Just keep a close eye on him, alright? He doesn't always take care of himself the way he should and if you're helping him get through this somehow, then you'd probably be the one to notice first."

"Oh, uh, s-sure." Lance nodded, uncertain what else to do.

Shiro smiled. "Good." Standing, he closed the distance between them, clapped Lance on the shoulder, and headed off toward the door. "Have a good night, Lance," he said lastly.

"Y-You too!" he managed to call after. Shiro left the room shortly after, leaving Lance to hunch in on himself and become overwhelmed with guilt at what he'd said. Keith had told him specifically _not_ to bring up the brother thing to Shiro and then he'd gone and done just that. Keith would be so angry if he'd heard.

He had to do better. Keith was depending on him— _trusting_ him. He had to step up his game. Both for Keith and the rest of the team.

Such resolve didn't stop him from feeling lousy about what he'd done, however. Collapsing back atop the couch, he groaned into the cushion and remained with his face hidden away for a minute or two. Until the whooshing sound of the doors once again echoed in his ears.

He didn't move as footsteps made their way around his couch, or even as someone sat down beside him. He kept his eyes closed and his face pressed into the cushion.

"What are you doing?" Keith asked after a few seconds.

"Getting intimate with the couch," he said simply.

"That's… a strange pastime."

Lance grinned. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."

"I have no idea what that means."

Laughing, Lance finally twisted around so he was lying on his back. Reaching up with his foot, he poked Keith's cheek with his toe. "Don't worry your mullety head about it, Kitten," he teased.

"Keep your feet away from me," Keith scolded, frowning as he slapped Lance's foot away. Laugh turning to a snicker, Lance took some joy out of Keith's sour expression before eventually being overcome by a sigh. Like slow moving syrup, he sank fully back into the couch.

"What are you doing in here anyway?" Keith eventually asked.

"Nothing really," Lance explained honestly. Retrieving his gaming device from where it'd gotten wedged between his body and the couch, he held it up to his face again and tried to get back to it. "Just chilling I guess."

"You chill a lot," Keith stated, and Lance couldn't tell if it was a criticism or not.

"Sometimes I just don't feel like moving, okay? Not all of us can be neurotically obsessed with training."

"I'm not obsessed," Keith snapped. "I just don't like to sit still."

Lance rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay."

Keith glared, but Lance ignored him. He really wasn't in the mood to argue. Which might come as a surprise to some, but Lance didn't _actually_ fight with Keith twenty-four seven. In fact, though they seemingly bickered a lot in front of the others, they hadn't actually spent enough time together to justify "fighting all the time." Now that such had changed, however, Lance really didn't have the _energy_ to fight all the time. That didn't mean he didn't _like_ fighting with Keith—because he really, really did—but sometimes even the experiences that gave him a thrill were a bit too much. Usually when he was feeling this way, he retreated to his room to be alone. Not because he wanted to be alone—he never wanted to be alone—but because he didn't…

He didn't want everyone else to realize just how drained he felt sometimes.

But there wasn't really any getting around avoiding Keith at this point, which meant he had to deal. Keith wasn't the type to push the subject however. Unlike Hunk, who would have been pestering Lance asking if he was okay, etc, etc. Which Lance appreciated—especially since Hunk was the only one of their teammates that knew about his… problems. But when there was nothing to be done about it, there was no point in talking about it.

If Keith thought it was odd that Lance could actually be quiet, he didn't say anything. Which, really, Lance thought probably wasn't good. He couldn't get too attached to their situation. What they had wasn't about him and he couldn't put his own wants above Keith's needs.

He wasn't about to make their arrangement about himself by becoming dependent on Keith to supply something Lance knew was no one's responsibility to deal with. That wasn't fair.

But it was… nice. Having Keith there, just, _a lot_. Though he knew it absolutely couldn't become expected or permanent, Lance allowed himself a little leeway to appreciate it. He felt a little better, maybe.

After all, what Keith didn't know wouldn't hurt him. What nobody knew, in fact, couldn't make anything worse than it already was.

They sat in silence for some time, Lance poking away at his game while Keith sat silently beside his feet, which were pulled up on the couch cushion. Occasionally, Lance would look up and was amused to see that Keith was dozing off, head tilting, only for him to startle back into wakefulness a few seconds later. He was clearly tired, which would probably explain why he'd been looking for Lance in the first place. It was pretty late, Lance supposed. But Lance just… really didn't want to get up.

He was kind of waiting for Keith to say something—give him a reason, an excuse, to get up and go to bed properly—but maybe that was a hopeless endeavor. He should just get up the gumption himself.

They'd trained so hard that day, though, and it was just… easier to stay on the couch.

"Huh? Fuck!" Keith had dozed off and nearly fallen sideways, the motion waking him so violently that he'd raised his arms in alarm. Which had Lance snickering again despite knowing he probably shouldn't.

He deserved the glare Keith threw at him.

Keith was huffing a second later and rubbing his eyes, while Lance was finally getting up the energy to go to his room.

But instead of complaining about the situation, as Lance had half-expected, Keith did something else entirely. Reaching down, he pulled his boots off his feet before leaning back against the back of the couch. Lance watched him discreetly for a moment, curious, and so could see the firm line of resolve that eventually formed across the other boy's forehead. Before he turned his full attention on Lance.

Like a swift sword strike, Keith pulled himself up onto the couch while simultaneously gliding up between Lance's legs. Without a word, he settled onto Lance's chest, his head resting there while his arms rested along Lance's sides. His own waist, meanwhile, settled a little too snuggly between Lance's parted thighs.

For as moment, Lance didn't know what to do or think. Yes, he and Keith had snuggled plenty over the last week, and no, Lance didn't mind in the least. But this… this was a little different. Not so much because Lance took issue with it, but more so because of how… suggestive the position was.

Clearly that wasn't on Keith's radar, though. Which was so incredibly _Keith_ that any awkwardness Lance might have felt was immediately zapped away. Keith didn't know better, or didn't care, and was simply looking for comfort. He was so awkwardly unaware that Lance couldn't help finding it oddly endearing. Even cute.

Yes, he could admit Keith was cute. He wasn't blind, after all. Add in his innocent ignorance and all Lance could do was roll his eyes at his antics before accepting them.

This was fine. Now he didn't have to get up and Keith could rest.

Taking a deep breath, Lance relished some beneath the reassuring, heavy weight of Keith's body draped over his own before putting his attention back on his game. Using Keith's head as a convenient stand, he set the device atop that fluffy mop of hair and continued playing, trying to ignore how soothing it was to be so pressed down upon by someone else. Lance loved hugs—loved being physically near people—and though he wasn't a cuddler to the extreme Keith was, he definitely didn't complain about people resting their heads on his shoulders or using him for support. Keith's whole body resting atop him was top-of-line kind of corporal support that Lance liked providing to people he cared about.

He wanted to be useful, even in small ways. Especially since most of the time he figured he wasn't.

But, despite how comfortable he was, he began to grow anxious over the fact that they were in a public place and Keith clearly didn't want anyone else to know what was going on. True, he'd been the one that had crawled up into Lance's lap, but maybe he was just too tired to care anymore, which wasn't exactly the best mindset in which to make decisions—especially when someone was as rash as Keith could be.

They'd trained in their lions nearly all day and then Keith had probably been sparring afterward—he was likely exhausted.

Taking a deep breath, Lance allowed himself only a few more moments of… whatever it was the two of them were partaking in, before he set his game aside and gently stroked Keith's hair.

"Hey, Kitten," he said, tone gentle. "We should get up and go to my room before someone walks in here."

"Mmm, no," Keith whined groggily, sounding like a child as he turned his head against Lance's chest, burrowing his nose more deeply into his shirt.

"Yeah, c'mon," Lance encouraged, laughing a bit as he did. "I know you don't want to have to explain this to anyone."

He only got a hum in response.

Rolling his eyes, Lance gave in and did the same thing he always did with his siblings when they were being difficult—he took matters into his own hands. Sitting up slowly, he cradled Keith's back so as to keep him steady while simultaneously placing his outside foot on the floor. Keith folded up in his lap obediently, eyes still closed as he snoozed away. Once again, Lance was surprised at how heavy a sleeper Keith could be. Sometimes he woke up every time Lance so much as moved, and other times it'd take an air horn to wake him.

Pausing for only a moment to situate himself, Lance moved his hand down up under Keith's behind to support him before pushing himself to his feet. Once again, how light Keith was took Lance somewhat aback, but he adjusted quickly enough. Positioning the other boy so he was straddling Lance's hips, he kept him aloft and began the trek toward the door. Keith slept on the whole time, head balanced on Lance's shoulder as the doors whooshed open to reveal the hall.

The dormitory was just a few halls away from the common area, so it took only minutes to get there. Thankfully, they encountered none of the others and were safely in Lance's room without incident—a fact that gave him a considerable amount of relief. If any of the others had seen him carrying Keith around, it would have started a concerned panic.

He decided then and there not to let the cuddling happen outside his room again, if only for Keith's sake (even if Keith was the one to initiate it). That was a mess neither of them wanted to deal with, of that he was absolutely certain.

Going to the bed, he gingerly laid Keith on the sheets, thankful when—even as they separated—Keith didn't wake up. He really must have been bushed. Lance would have to watch how much he trained. Maybe he was overexerting himself. That would be a Keith thing to do. And Shiro had told him to keep an eye on him. Aside from the nightmares, his trauma could be taking a toll in other ways. Keith had trained hard _before_ he'd been dealing with this—he didn't need to go overboard.

Crouching down beside the bed, Lance watched him sleep for a moment, eyebrows knitting together in concern. Keith would use training as an excuse not to deal with his issues, if they really were getting to him that badly. But if he was that bothered, Lance wished he'd just come and talk about it.

But maybe that was hypocritical. How could he expect Keith to do such a thing when he refused to do the same?

Keith's problems were serious, though. Much more serious than _his_ stupid issues.

Taking a short breath, Lance reached out and carefully pushed some of Keith's hair back, revealing his sleeping face more fully. He looked calm then, perhaps like he wasn't dreaming at all. But Lance knew firsthand it likely wouldn't last. Keith had nightmares almost every night.

Lance kind of wished he could just… shove those memories out of Keith's head. He hated that the other boy was constantly haunted by them, and that he—Lance—was the central variable that made it all so upsetting.

But no amount of hoping would make anything better, just like his own desperation wasn't going to make his depression simply vanish. They had to deal with it. Doing so was hard, Lance knew, and there had been points in his younger years when he'd… but he liked to think he was a bit stronger now.

Or maybe that was wishful thinking too.

Placing Keith's hair behind his ear, Lance smiled softly at the way his lips formed into a frown at the touch, the scene reminding him so much of being home—of tucking his siblings into bed and of his memories of his mother doing the same—that he was overcome by the urge to lean in and-

Wait, wait, what?!

Okay, so Lance wasn't sure how to interpret this, but he was pretty sure that wanting to lean in and kiss Keith's cheek was completely and totally out of line. Certainly he'd done the same to his younger siblings plenty of times, and been victim to his mother's kisses his whole life. But Keith was _not_ his family and he couldn't just go around _kissing sleeping people_!

Could he?

Shoving himself to his feet, Lance went to his dresser and distracted himself with changing into more suitable night clothes. He was not surprised—when he turned back around—to find Keith slowly sitting up, eyelids heavy with sleep.

He never stayed asleep long if Lance wasn't in the bed with him.

"Here, you can change into this," Lance stated simply, tossing Keith a pair of blue pants and a matching shirt. They landed in his lap and Keith picked them up like they were dirty or covered in mud. "You know the rule," Lance started then. "No sleeping in my bed in the nasty clothes you've been sweating in all day. And I know you're too tired to go back to your own room." Pointing at him sternly, Lance assumed his policies would be followed as he then turned and retreated into the bathroom. Going through his nightly routine, he was soon smoothing his face mask into place and heading back out to the main room.

Keith was changed and sitting in the corner of the bed, legs crossed. He appeared distracted and had one of the pillows sitting in his lap. Lance watched him for a moment, somewhat pleased to see just how good Keith looked in blue. Granted, most people looked good in blue, but he'd take personal satisfaction where he could get it.

Not that it _mattered_ how good Keith looked in anything.

Clearing his throat if only to announce his presence, he headed over to the bed while Keith's eyes flicked up and watched him. Climbing in, he didn't immediately lie down, instead turning his attention to Keith.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Why do you ask?"

"Dunno. You just seem really tired. Like you trained harder than usual or something."

Keith shrugged.

So Lance shrugged back, though the motion was clearly mocking.

"You're not my therapist," he snapped a second later.

"Okay, _never mind_ ," Lance said, scooting lower so he could lay down on his back. "Forget I asked."

Though they'd been sleeping in the same bed for a week, they hadn't had a repeat of the intimacy they'd shared in the very beginning. Which was fine at first, but Lance was beginning to wonder if—without it—they'd devolve into fighting again. Which was fine when it wasn't _real_ fighting, but Lance could sense something else was amiss.

A something that had been rising between them the last couple of days, but that they'd both been ignoring. Or at least Lance had been.

Keith didn't make any attempts to get comfortable. Like he had when they'd been sitting on the couch initially, he stared straight ahead and kept fighting the way he was nodding off. Which eventually Lance got fed up watching. With a simple verbal command, he had the lights turned off before turning on his side away from Keith.

If he wanted to sit there and brood, that was his problem.

"What about you?" Keith asked a few moments later, voice sounding loud against the darkness. "Are _you_ alright?"

"I'm fine," Lance replied easily. "Breathing normal, heart's beating, nothing to worry about."

"That's not what I meant."

Lance pursed his lips and said nothing.

Keith growled. "It's been a week and you ask me every day if I'm okay. I tell you the truth. And every time I ask you, you lie to me."

Lance closed his eyes and wondered if it was appropriate that he pretend to be asleep.

"Why don't you trust me?"

Lance sighed. "I do trust you, Keith. I just don't want to talk about it."

"Why not? We spend so much time together now, it's not like I don't notice."

Was he that obvious? His own mood combined with the guilt over Keith's situation did have him feeling pretty down lately. But he hadn't anticipated that Keith would pick up on it. Then again, he was right—they did spend a lot of time together. Nights anyway. Maybe that was enough that even Keith had picked up on it.

"There's nothing wrong," Lance grumped. "You're probably just getting to know the real me instead of whatever screw-up you thought I was before." Not that he wasn't anyway.

"That! That right there!" Keith accused. "Why do you say stuff like that? I've never thought you were a screw-up."

"What a relief," Lance muttered.

"Lance!" Reaching out, Keith grabbed his arm, yanking on him and forcing him to turn over. But even as Lance glared up at him, he didn't release his hold. Instead, Keith's grip tightened, his thumb rubbing very purposefully over a faded, though large, scar on the underside of Lance's wrist.

Hissing, Lance snapped his arm back and shied away, unconsciously pulling the sleeve of his night shirt back down where it belonged.

"Lance…"

"Just fuck off, Keith, alright?!" Lance barked. "Mind your own business." Slamming himself back down onto the bed, he once again faced away. Pulling his hands protectively up under his head, he closed his eyes and tried to focus on sleep. But his heart was beating fast in his chest and his stomach was twisting with knots. He wore long sleeves and a large coat for more than the fact that they were comfortable. But even so, those that noticed the scars didn't normally comment. Having Keith, albeit wordlessly, bring it up was like yanking a fish hook up through Lance's throat.

It wasn't something he'd wanted to think about, though it always lingered dangerously close to the surface. And the fact that one small motion could rip away the fragile skin keeping it all contained spoke volumes about how brittle and weak Lance really was.

Great, and now he was crying. Just fucking _perfect_.

"Goddammit," he growled, voice thick. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he violently stood and marched his way to the bathroom. Once he was safely behind the closed door, he reached up and wiped at the tears streaking over his facemask. Which of course smudged the mask itself, but he didn't particularly care at that point. Instead, he turned on the water and washed it away. That didn't stop the tears, however.

"Stupid Keith," he whispered, sniffing, and was displeased when he looked at his reflection in the mirror only to see just how red his eyes already were. He continued to try and wipe the tears away, but they just kept coming. He'd been doing so well, balancing. Sure, he'd been feeling shitty, and guilty, and useless, but he'd been carrying on. Yet, like only one more stone in the bucket was all that had been needed to tip the scale, Keith's jabbing intrusion was enough to put him over the edge.

The straw to break the camel's back.

"Just… stop!" Lance hissed, wiping furiously at his eyes and only growing more and more frustrated when nothing he did made the situation any better. Instead, his breath caught in his throat and the weariness that had been biting at his heels nearly his whole life reached up and grabbed him.

Chest heaving, his legs shook beneath him until they just couldn't support him anymore. Tumbling to the floor, the tears only came harder as he hit the ground, his lashes damp and blurring his vision. Yet, despite it all—despite how crippled and helpless he knew he was and how every bone in his body seemed to shudder—he felt numb. Alone maybe, and like he lived in a vacuum where every emotion was so penetrating that it eclipsed his own ability to feel it.

Even the sensation of the floor beneath him was overwhelming—was spilling through him until he was drowning.

And there was nothing he could do to make it stop.

"Lance…?"

Keith's voice stabbed through him so acutely that it punctured through everything. But it didn't distract him from his reality. Rather, it was just another layer added to make everything more suffocating.

" _What_?!" he snapped, snarling up at Keith, who was standing in the doorway. His tone was nasty—spurred by fear and defensiveness. "What do you _want_?!"

"I just…" Keith was blinking down at him with that doe-eyed cluelessness he sometimes wore when faced with a social situation he had no idea how to deal with. "I wanted…"

"To make sure I was alright?" Lance asked. "Well, _surprise_ , I'm fucking not! So could you do us both a favor and just get the hell out please?" At least let him be miserable alone so there was the small comfort that he wasn't dragging anyone down with him.

"What's wrong?"

"Get _out_ , Keith!"

" _No_! What's wrong with you?!"

" _What the hell do you think is wrong with me_?!" Lance practically screeched, his lips trembling violently. His tone caused Keith to jump, but he didn't shy away. "I'm fucking _depressed_! That's what's wrong with me! I'm depressed all the goddamn time! Are you happy now?! Is that the fairytale answer you were looking for?!"

Yet, Keith said nothing. He just stood there, gaping down at Lance like he'd seen a ghost.

"Pathetic, isn't it?" Lance continued, every bit of his insides twisting until his whole body was nothing more than a numb, pulsating nerve. "There's nothing wrong aside from the fact that everything is 'wrong' with me!" And now Keith _knew_ , which only made it ten hundred times worse. He'd been doing so well, hiding it. Only Hunk knew he had issues, and even then, he'd always done fairly well convincing Hunk things weren't as bad as they actually were.

All of it, shattered in one small, insignificant moment. All that work, all that determination—worthless.

 _Worthless_.

"Jesus Christ, Lance!" Keith eventually managed to get out, voice loud and edged with alarm. "What the fuck?! Why didn't you say anything?!"

"Why? So everyone else can see how pathetic I am?" Lance almost wanted to laugh, but truthfully didn't have the energy. "I'm already the weakest link on the team. This only makes it worse."

"You're not- _Goddammit_ , Lance!" Gripping his hair, Keith paced a bit in front of the door before whipping around on him again. "You should have said something!"

"Why?! It wouldn't do any good!" Leaning his head back against the wall, Lance closed his eyes and grit his teeth so tightly he thought they might break. "There's no point…"

"Of coure- Of course there's a point! Lance, we could have helped you!"

"How?" Lance shrugged, the light in the room feeling far too severe as he opened his eyes again. "Like we can afford to take time to deal with my messed up brain. It's not worth the trouble."

"Yes, it is," Keith said fiercely, his voice much closer than it had been before. Lance knew he was crouched down beside him, close enough to touch, but he didn't turn to look at him. He couldn't—he was too ashamed. "You're one of us, Lance. We're family. If you'd said something, we could have helped you." Keith took a shaky breath. " _I_ could have helped you."

But Lance didn't _want_ help. He didn't "want" any of this, because the idea of having anyone else deal with the burden of his problems when they could be putting their focus somewhere more important only made him feel _worse_.

"Lance," Keith murmured brokenly, "why didn't you _tell_ me?"

Like Keith had done with his issues. Because they were _friends_ , and friends helped each other whether they wanted to or not.

"What was I supposed to say?" Lance asked quietly, voice straining against the dryness coating his throat. He didn't want to talk about this—didn't want to talk, period. Mostly he wanted to sleep and never wake up again. "That I feel horrible all the time? That all I ever want to do is lie in bed? That getting up every morning feels just as hard as every battle we've ever fought and that I know that's not right but I can't help it anyway? I'm the worst pilot and the worst fighter and I don't do anything for this team and I know I'm bringing us down anyway, so why make it worse?"

"Lance, none of that is true."

"And now you're all messed up and it's all my fault. And I'm trying to help you, and I want to help you, but sometimes I wonder i-if m-maybe it would have been b-better if I had died because then you guys could have found a better p-paladin. But I c-c-can't tell you that because- because I know y-you have n-n-nightmares about me being dead and it's not fair to- to tell you that sometimes I wish I w-w-was dead and I'm _sorry_! And I miss my f-family, but we're never g-going to get home and I'm only holding us back and now y-you're going to h-h-hate me because what has you all m-m-messed up I s-s-sometimes wish was _true_ and I'm _sorry_ because I don't _want_ to feel this way, but I don't know h-how to make it _**stop**_."

With one exception, which he'd promised his mother he'd never, ever attempt again.

"Christ, Lance," Keith whispered, Lance only vaguely aware that there were hands cradling his face. Like everything, the sensation was both too acute, but far, far away. Until, of course, he made the mistake of looking directly at Keith, who was so close beside him and had tears streaming down his face too. The sight naturally made guilt tumble down through Lance so swiftly that he thought he'd be pinned to the ground beneath it.

"None of that is true," Keith repeated, his thumbs stroking gently beneath Lance's eyes. "There's no paladin that would be better than you, and I'm _not_ angry. I wish you'd told me, but I'm not mad at you. And- And you're definitely not better off dead, okay? We lived through what you being dead was like and it didn't make anything better. So please, _please_ don't think that. I don't know that I could live without you."

Because Keith needed him. He needed him to sleep and to function, even if the source of his trauma was Lance's fault too.

"You're not- you haven't been thinking about… about killing yourself, have you?" Keith asked, tone so strained that it seemed likely to snap.

Lance shook his head. "No." He held his wrist up for Keith to see, scar and all. "Tried that once. Promised my mom I'd n-never do it again."

His admission left Keith gaping at his wrist brokenly, even more color draining from his pale features. And while Lance wanted to care—wanted so desperately to reach out and reassure Keith that it was okay, that the time in his life when he'd been that desperate was long gone—he just didn't have the motivation. It'd be a lie anyway, like so many other things he'd said to keep everyone unaware. Truth was, he sometimes felt just as low, if not worse, than the night years ago—after he'd failed his Garrison exam—that he'd given up.

Sometimes it was Blue that kept him going. Sometimes it was their mission. More often than not it was the promise he'd made to his mother that he'd never do such a thing ever again. And lately, it'd been Keith. Because Keith needed him.

Small things, but enough to keep him going.

Enough to hold him together just a little longer.

It was all ridiculously stupid, he knew. Keith had led a rough life: no mother, no home, lost his father. He had nothing and somehow he was stronger than Lance. Lance, who had a family and people that loved him and who'd grown up privileged in a warm home with his own space and food on the table every night. Yet he'd been the one that had tried to run away from it all. It was selfish, he _knew_ that. He'd scarred his family forever when he'd given up and nothing he could do would ever heal that wound. Still he was plagued by guilt, yet no amount of shame or reason alleviated the overpowering desire to just… fade away.

He didn't want to be worthless. He didn't want to be a seventh wheel or the weakest link. But he _was_. And now Keith knew just _how_ weak.

"I'm sorry," he murmured again, a fresh wave of tears erupting from behind his eyes. "I'm such an asshole, I'm _sorry_."

"No, you're not," Keith whispered, their gazes once again meeting.

"I'm a coward and I'm selfish and I s-s-sorry."

"You're not a coward, Lance—you're one of the bravest people I've ever met. And you're not selfish. You're probably the least selfish person I know." His fingers sifted through Lance's hair, combing it gently. "I wish you'd _said_ something."

"None of you should h-have to deal with this."

"That doesn't matter," Keith said fiercely. "When any of us is hurt, we take care of each other. That's the way it is. Lance, you…" He swallowed hard. "We're _family_."

"I'm just a burden…"

"No more of a burden than I am," Keith countered. "Or that any of us are. We all need help sometimes—you're the one who told me that. So let us help you."

Lance was already trying to shake his head, but Keith's hold on him only became more restricting as a result.

"I _want_ to help you, Lance," he murmured.

But that was thing—there was no help to be had. It didn't matter what he did, "it" always lingered in the back of thoughts. He had ups and downs, but there was no cure. He knew that, had no choice but to accept it. People said "just get through it," "try exercising more," "be positive," but that didn't _do_ anything. He'd been on medication before he'd been swept into space, and it'd made things easier, but he didn't have that support anymore. They were in the middle of a war—they were all miserable. What right did he have to make a big deal of something he should know how to deal with by now? Something he should have better control over?

No, he didn't want help. He didn't want this kind of attention. He just… wanted to be alone.

Just let him be. Forget it.

Better yet, forget him.

And maybe when he got up in the morning, he could wear his skin like a mask and pretend that everything was alright.

"Just leave me alone, Keith," he murmured, reaching out and shoving the other boy back by the shoulders. "You don't understand." And Lance didn't want him to. For his—Keith's—sake. For the same reasons he wished his parents hadn't had to deal with him, and his siblings. He just… wasn't worth the grief.

But Keith didn't heed his gesture. "Then explain it to me."

"That's not how it works."

"Then tell me what I can do to make it work."

"You can't 'make' this work, Keith!" Lance snapped. "Just… let it go."

"No."

"Keith, _please_." Again, he shoved him back.

"I want to help you-"

"You can't do anything!" Lance shouted, growing only more frustrated. "Don't you get it?! There's nothing either of us can do!" Finally, he succeeded in pushing Keith away, the two of them separating as Keith fell back on his butt. "Just leave me alone…"

Leaning away, Lance slid down against the wall until he was lying on his side on the floor. Hands balled into fists at his head, he tried to focus on the pain of his fingernails puncturing his skin, if only because it seemed so much more real—the pain—than the empty hole making up the rest of what he was.

It was better this way. Keith didn't need to get involved. No one did.

Just leave him be.

"Lance…"

 _Just let him go_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor kids. Sorry Keith, but this isn't the kind of problem you can just rush in and fix, no matter how much you may want to. 
> 
> Sorry if this chapter was kind of conflicting in on itself--I was trying to both mentally and symbolically get Lance's mindset across, and depression can be quite contradictory in and of itself, and in how it effects those that suffer from it. Like how Lance wants to be close to people, enjoys it, but is also always pushing them away, etc, etc. I just hope that kind of got across.


	9. Chapter 9

Keith had slept, sure, but not well. And while it was an interesting change that his anxieties were now less focused on Lance's accident, he wouldn't go so far as to claim that being anxious about Lance's depression was any better. Where he'd usually be woken by nightmares, he was instead startled from sleep by the thought of Lance trying to take his own life.

He wasn't dreaming about it, per se, but one second he'd be asleep and the next he'd remember that, at some point before they'd known each other, Lance had felt so lost and hopeless that he'd turned to death as an alternative.

Keith couldn't even imagine it, what it'd feel like to be that… low. Sure, there'd been some pretty shitty moments in his life—a lot of shitty moments actually—but he'd never even fathomed suicide. It'd just never been an option that entered his psyche. He didn't want to assume it was because he was a fighter or something as cliché as that, because that implied Lance wasn't, which he didn't consider to be true. All of them—all of team Voltron—were the types to keep pushing, to go the extra mile. Lance was no exception, which was part of the reason Keith was so shocked.

But perhaps that was the crucial variable in it all. Where Lance _could_ have a choice to keep fighting, to push forward to the very end when the situation called for it—like they all did—depression wasn't a choice. It just… was. No, Keith had never suffered from depression, so he couldn't understand. There'd been times when he'd _been_ depressed, sure, but it wasn't the same. What Lance was dealing with, it was… it was an illness, or so Keith had come to understand through what little knowledge he had of the condition.

Shiro had depression too, he knew that. But he'd always been more level than some of the extreme cases Keith had heard about. Or maybe he'd just been better at monitoring it? Keith didn't know. He knew some of what depression was about _because_ of Shiro, but not enough to know what to do with Lance.

Because Lance was a really extreme case, wasn't he? And if depression was an illness and something that couldn't be controlled, wasn't it dangerous for him to stay this way? Sure, he said he wasn't intending to kill himself, but some of the things he'd said…

Did that make Lance suicidal?

What if it was too much for him one day? What if…?

And so the thoughts spun and spun in Keith's head, jolting him awake every so often and leaving him with a racing heart and no idea what to do about it.

He was back in Lance's bed, the both of them lying there though nearly a foot separated them. But Keith wasn't sure how to approach Lance after what had happened. They'd stayed in the bathroom for over an hour before Lance had just… gotten to his feet and walked out. Saying nothing, he'd gestured Keith into the bed when he'd followed before climbing in himself.

Not a word had been spoken between them. And though Keith's own exhaustion had dragged him down to sleep over and over again, every time he opened his eyes, he saw that Lance was exactly the same. Lying on his back, his eyes were open and staring at the ceiling.

The emptiness in his expression reminded Keith so much of how he'd looked when all the light had left his eyes that day on the Balmera that it nearly startled him every time he woke up.

By the time "morning" came around, neither of them were well-rested or in any condition to be getting up. And for some time—as the seconds ticked by—Keith wondered if maybe Lance wouldn't. He wanted to ask. He wanted to think of anything at all to say that would be helpful or just… break the horribly thick tension between them. But…

But he didn't _know_. He wanted to help, but Lance didn't _want_ his help. He knew Lance _needed_ help, but that didn't make him qualified act. And while every urge inside him wanted to force the subject—to pry answers and explanations from Lance—he knew that might only make it worse.

Which left him anxiously desperate and… and scared.

Keith hated being scared. Just like he hated what almost losing Lance had done to him, he hated this too. But he couldn't just force Lance to get better and ease his own concern. Just the thought of Lance hurting himself, or thinking so little of himself-

It ripped Keith's heart apart, only to have the notion followed up by the fear of losing him.

He couldn't lose Lance.

He _loved_ him, even if Lance didn't love him back.

Swallowing hard, Keith blinked and continued to stare at Lance's profile. Keith himself was curled up on his side, wedged nearly to the wall. While Lance rested on the edge of the bed to the other side. If he knew Keith was staring at him, he didn't acknowledge it. He didn't acknowledge anything. Rather, it was almost like "Lance" wasn't even there.

Which was only more terrifying to Keith.

He wondered if maybe Lance would stay in bed all day, but then—like the seconds had merely been counting down—he sat up as soon as they had exactly half an hour before they had to be to breakfast. Keith remained as he was, watching, while Lance sat and took quiet, hardly noticeable breaths. And like a robot exercising its necessary functions, he eventually swung his legs around until his feet were on the floor.

Keith had never thought that watching a seemingly healthy person stand would be so painful. He could practically feel the weight in Lance's bones as he pushed himself into standing. Every step he took to the bathroom was forced. Maybe it appeared easy, but his shoulders sunk more than usual and his feet dragged. Every bit of that exuberant energy Lance was known for was zapped dry.

Even after he'd closed the bathroom door, Keith remained in the bed for some time. He ran through his thoughts any and all possible ideas that would help the situation, but the options were far and few between. Even those ideas he did have were questionable, simply based on his ignorance. Which ultimately left Keith frustrated.

Growling, he practically threw himself to his feet before marching over to the dresser. Retrieving his clothes, he changed quickly back into them before returning to the bed and slamming himself down. Fingers tapping on his knees, he did his best to ignore his anxiety and continued to brainstorm.

He had to do _something_.

"Oh, right." The sound of Lance's voice actually made him jump, Keith's eyes snapping up as the bathroom door opened. "Our shoes are in the common room."

He was smoothing his jacket as he exited, his hair set as perfectly as always and his face looking more or less fresh aside from the slight bags under his eyes. But for someone who'd been up all night, he really didn't look half bad.

Which was more disconcerting to Keith than comforting.

"Really?" Lance leveled him with a look, one eyebrow cocked. "You gonna go to breakfast with hair like that?" Though there was a bit of spark to his words, his eyes betrayed him. The blue was flat, empty, and Keith felt acutely like he was being lied to.

Nonetheless, he decided to play along. Reaching up, he patted down his hair, pursing his lips in feigned annoyance at Lance's comment. He couldn't bring himself to glare, however.

Lance rolled his eyes. "C'mon," he said, before heading toward the door. "I don't want to get yelled at by Allura for being late."

A comment about Keith's hair should have been followed by more teasing—it was a pattern Keith knew well. But normally there wasn't this bloated, suffocating pressure between them either. Lance walked briskly out into the hall like nothing was amiss at all. Or more like he was pretending nothing was amiss.

The act grated on Keith severely, but he didn't know how to bring it up. Or even if he should. So, instead, he followed and said nothing.

If Lance was going to pretend like nothing had happened, then maybe Keith just had to deal. He hated "dealing" with things. He'd much rather _actually_ deal with them. Directly if at all possible.

But he didn't say a word. Together, they returned to the common room to retrieve their shoes before headed to the dining hall. And though Lance had taken a seat beside Keith during every meal the last week, he sat beside Hunk that morning instead. Across from them, Keith remained quietly observant as he shoveled goo into his mouth.

Lance refused to look at him as well. He chatted with Hunk like everything was perfectly normal, even smiling and laughing when expected.

But that was the difference—it was planned. Keith knew because that emptiness that haunted his dreams never once left Lance's gaze.

All of it was fake.

And all day, Keith tried not to be upset that Lance was actively avoiding him.

Despite both their efforts, however, training didn't go well. Lance was doing a fair job of acting, but it wasn't making up for his fatigue in their maneuvers. Nor was Keith on his top game. He wasn't even on his mediocre game. Shiro took note of course, and though he tried to encourage them to concentrate, he ultimately ended training early.

As soon as they were out of their lions and standing in the central hanger, Keith could see the disappointment in Lance's expression. No, he wasn't good at reading people in general, but he'd gotten pretty good with Lance as of late. Did he always appear so when things went poorly? Did he always look so guilty?

But as soon as attention was turned his way, he lifted his head and covered it all up.

Shiro was saying something about how he was disappointed in everyone's performance, but Keith feared that Lance would take it to mean only him. And so, somewhat fueled by frustration and somewhat because he wanted to somehow shift Lance's attention, Keith ended up removing his helmet and throwing it down angrily.

Snapping something about how "everyone had bad days sometimes," he'd then marched from the hanger and retreated to his own room. He wasn't sure what the point of his performance had been—not like anyone else was actively blaming Lance or something. But maybe if he purposefully took some of the blame, Lance wouldn't shoulder it all.

Really, he was being stupid and acting rashly because he didn't know what else to do.

About forty-five minutes after he'd caused the slight "scene," there was a knock on his door. Shiro entered shortly after, already looking concerned. Which didn't bode well. Keith knew he couldn't reveal Lance's situation, not without permission, but he also knew that Shiro was going to question. He wasn't exactly the best at thinking on his feet when it came to conversation.

"What's up, Keith?" Shiro asked, getting right to the point—just as he knew Keith preferred. Already sitting on the bed, Keith flopped backwards and decided not to answer. "I realize you have a bit of a temper sometimes, but even for you that was rather uncalled for."

Keith pursed his lips.

"Keith."

"It's just like I said," he finally replied. "I'm having a bad day."

"Clearly," Shiro remarked shortly. "But that doesn't mean you get to lose your cool like that." Normally when he lost it, he could at least somewhat justify it. Even he knew his behavior had been out of line. Maybe if he just apologized…

"Sorry," he tried.

Shiro sighed. Shaking his head, he made his way over to the bed before sitting down on the edge. Keith knew what came next. Usually if he was having a bad day or was in a sour mood, he'd confide in Shiro. It did, truthfully, make him feel better and had become a bit of an expected norm between them. But what was he supposed to say this time? He couldn't exactly explain. He was holding secrets that weren't his to tell.

"C'mon, Keith, what's bothering you?" Shiro pushed when it became clear Keith wasn't going to say anything. "It's not every day you screw up that many formations. Both you and Lance were completely off today."

"Don't tell him that," Keith muttered.

"Hm?"

"Nothing."

Pause.

Shiro reached out and poked his thigh. Hard. So Keith sighed and sat up. Leaning his elbows down on his knees, he tapped his fingers together and considered.

"Um, I- I have to ask you something," he finally started, biting his bottom lip as he did. He could do this without giving Lance away. Maybe.

"Shoot," Shiro replied. "You know you can talk to me about anything." Commentary that Keith knew was a jab at his secrecy concerning his recent sleeping arrangements. But he knew if he confessed as much to Shiro, he'd definitely give his feelings for Lance away at the same time. Shiro could always, _always_ , tell when he liked someone, and he didn't want anyone involved with that particular situation as of yet. Especially since he figured Shiro wasn't going to like the development. Feelings, especially romantic ones, made things messy. And if Shiro knew about his feelings as well as the fact that he was sleeping with Lance every night?

Well, that disappointed dad stare would be the least of his worries, even if Shiro would be understanding and sympathetic in the same motion.

In any case, that wasn't the current issue whether Shiro wanted to talk about it or not.

"This might, uh, actually seem kind of out of the blue," Keith went on, "so just bear with me." He took a deep breath and tried to pick his words very, very carefully. "When it comes to something like depression, what's the, er, best way to deal with it, I guess…?"

Had that been vague enough? He hoped so. Shiro appeared surprised nonetheless, but perhaps that was only to be expected.

"Well that… depends." Shiro's eyebrows pulled together thoughtfully. "I'd probably need more information on the specific situation…"

"If someone you know is depressed," Keith went on, "what should you do about it?"

"What do you mean by depressed?" Shiro asked.

"Like- Like they have depression, maybe," Keith dared to say, still hoping Shiro wouldn't realize he was talking about Lance.

"Keith, if someone on our team is depressed or has depression, I need to know about it," Shiro countered, sounding concerned. Before he reached out and laid a hand on Keith's shoulder. "I know you've been dealing with a lot recently. Are you alright?"

Oh, so he thought Keith was talking about himself. Well, maybe that was better. He could take this hit for Lance, even if it meant lying (or trying to). Shiro would understand.

"I, uh, I've been kind of… out of sorts lately," he managed to say, cringing a bit as he did. He hated lying, and he _really_ wasn't any good at it. "I mean, a different out of sorts than what was happening before."

"I know you're probably still dealing with PTSD. Sometimes depression can go along with that." Smiling gently, Shiro squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. "My depression got a lot worse after…" He swallowed hard. "The point is, I'm glad you're telling me. Talking about it is the first step to getting help, and sometimes it's the hardest thing to do."

Right. Of course it was.

"A lot of people won't even realize there's a problem, so if you think you're depressed, I can talk to Allura and Coran."

"What can they do?"

"We're on a giant castle-ship created by a civilization far more advanced than our own," Shiro replied, chuckling a bit as he did. "Do you honestly think they didn't have treatments for mental imbalances?"

"Oh, really?" Keith was all ears now.

"Granted, if you are depressed and it's been caused by what happened to Lance, working through that is probably going to be the best solution for you, but that doesn't mean some kind of medication is out of the question. There's nothing wrong with needing a little help to get through rough patches."

Exactly what Lance had said. So why couldn't he view himself the same way?

Well, Keith knew why.

" _Are_ you handling what happened okay?" Shiro asked then. "You've seemed a lot better this last week."

"Uh, yeah, I'm getting through it alright I think. I was just curious about… the depression thing. But I don't think I'm depressed, really. I was just… wondering…"

Shiro didn't look at all convinced. "Don't pretend you're fine if you really have a problem," he lectured. "That doesn't help you or anyone else."

No, it didn't.

"I don't think I'm depressed—I think I've just been kind of down." Which wasn't a lie, really. "But I was just curious, since, you know, you've dealt with it and all."

"I still am dealing with it," Shiro admitted, though Keith supposed he knew that. "Coran put together a special drug based on my personal body and brain chemistry that I get injected every week."

"Really?" Keith hadn't known that.

"There's no shame in it," Shiro said, shrugging as his hand finally dropped from Keith's shoulder. "I'd been off my medication for over a year. To say I was feeling pretty bad was a bit of an understatement. But Allura and Coran helped me with it."

"And they don't care that you've got depression?"

"No." Shiro shrugged. "It's a common consequence of my situation. Of all our situations, really. And the alteans weren't so close-minded as to think that the mind couldn't be sick, just like the rest of the body. It can't be fixed in a pod because such things usually stem from something more than just a physical wound, but it's not untreatable. No, my medication isn't perfect because my body and brain aren't always static in their performance, but I'm much better than if I wasn't getting treated at all."

"So you just get this injection and you're okay?" Keith asked.

Shiro laughed. "It's not that simple. There are a lot of variables that contribute and Coran rescans me every week in attempts to make small adjustments to my dosage. And I had to build up to it, because there's no way to measure with absolute certainty what's going to work and what's not, mostly because there are variables—like trauma—that _can't_ be measured. But I'd be much worse off if I was trying to deal with it by myself."

"So you just… told Coran and Allura and they made the special drug?"

"Keith, you're beginning to sound a little desperate here. If you need drugs to help with something, all you have to do is say so. Allura offered to give you something before, remember?"

"I know. And I'm fine, really," he assured. "I'm just curious, that's all."

Shiro was not impressed by his answer. "Well, yes, something like that," he confirmed. "It's more complex, but if you think you need something, I can talk to them and they'll get everything ready. You're a paladin of Voltron. Aside from saving the galaxy, Allura and Coran's top priority is keeping us all well and healthy. Otherwise—like today—we can't perform at our best. So, _again_ , if you think you might need something, don't hesitate to ask. There's no shame in it."

He really did feel bad lying. "I'll, uh, I'll think about it," Keith replied.

Shiro sighed. "Talking to someone is also helpful," he continued. "Sometimes necessary."

Well, Keith already kind of talked to Lance (sometimes). But getting Lance to talk to him was apparently another matter entirely. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

Shiro looked at him like he was expecting more. "Even if it's just a friend," he pressed.

"Yeah, a friend, got it." Keith awkwardly gave Shiro a thumbs up, which resulted in a rather exasperated huff from the older paladin. Now Keith just felt bad. "I'm fine, really," he said again. "Just… let me handle this one step at a time, okay?"

Reasoning that finally got a bit of satisfaction out of Shiro. "Alright," he agreed. "But if you ever need _anything_ , just ask. Coran and Allura won't hesitate to help, nor will I."

"I know." Keith nodded and offered a tight smile. "Thanks, Shiro."

Patting him on the leg, Shiro gave him that last bit of reassurance before submitting to the fact that Keith wasn't going to expand on the topic any further. They agreed to see each other at dinner before Keith was once again left alone to his thoughts. Which, of course, went straight to Lance.

So Allura and Coran could probably help, but how did he get Lance to agree to see them in the first place? He clearly didn't want to talk to anyone about it, or even admit to the others that he had a problem in the first place. Still, there had to be a way to get him to change his mind. Unfortunately, Keith wasn't exactly the smoothest of persuaders. That, and he wasn't even sure he was in a positon to try. Sure, he and Lance were getting on better (or had been) and they were kind of sharing in a sort of… intimacy that wasn't wholly expected. But though they'd opened up to one another the week before, the occurrence hadn't happened again.

Part of Keith feared that it was a fluke—that maybe he and Lance weren't closer at all. Really, the best person to talk to Lance about it would be Hunk. They'd known each other for years. But Keith couldn't be sure if Hunk knew about Lance's issues and it wasn't his place to tell him.

This whole situation sucked, really.

Standing, Keith paced the length of his room for a few moments before eventually deciding on a walk around the castle. He had an hour before dinner and was half-temped to get some training in, despite how tired he was. But before he reached the training room, he was sidetracked by the sound of Pidge's manic cackling in the kitchen.

Peeking his head in curiously, he was greeted by the sight of Hunk splattered with food goo while Lance held the goo hose and appeared awfully surprised. Pidge was nearly doubled over laughing.

"Oh shit," Lance eventually murmured, though his lips struggled to contain his own laughter. "Sorry, Hunk."

"It's fine," Hunk replied, sighing. "The hose hasn't really been dependable since that virus went through the castle. Besides," he fingered some goo off his shirt before sticking it in his mouth, "I was hungry anyway." Finally, Lance devolved into laughter, the sound rushing unexpected relief all through Keith. He hadn't realized just how comforting hearing the sound would be and he was even more reassured when he saw that some of the energy had returned to Lance's expressions.

Did that mean he was feeling better? Maybe even a little? But perhaps spending time with Hunk and Pidge had done him some good.

Was… was their arrangement stressing him out? Keith hadn't even considered it, but as the notion filtered into his head, he felt like he was abruptly draped in a soaking blanket. Of course if Lance was depressed, dealing with Keith was going to have an adverse effect on him. No wonder he'd been avoiding him all day…

"Oh, hey Keith!" Pidge said suddenly, snapping his attention back to the group. "Why're you just lurking in the doorway?"

"Uh…" Keith looked between them all, trying not to let his attention remain too long on Lance. "I was just passing by when I- I noticed Lance was making a mess."

"It was an accident!" Lance exclaimed, flailing his arms. He was still holding the goo gun, unfortunately, which resulted in another stream of the green substance being released upon the room. Ducking, Keith just barely avoided the onslaught when it splattered through the doorway.

"Give me that," Pidge scolded, yanking the gun from Lance's hands. Meanwhile, Keith bent back up into standing, half tempted to cast Lance a disapproving scowl—as would have been habitual—but torn between whether it'd be received well or not.

"I was just trying to get a snack, jeez," Lance complained, rolling his eyes far too dramatically.

"Yeah, well, I don't think Keith would be as interested in sharing as Hunk is," Pidge reasoned, placing the hose back into its holder.

"You don't know that," Lance replied. "I was just trying to be generous. Right, Keith?" Finally—for the first time that day—Lance looked at him. Looked _right_ at him. Which shocked Keith for a moment, no words forming as he was caught in Lance's blue gaze. Instead, all he could do was stare. Stare until Lance's fragile mask, though solidly in place, cracked. The cocky grin on his face faltered and some of the light in his eyes retreated.

For moment, he looked _terrified_.

Which was what pushed Keith into getting his act together.

Clearing his throat, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked haughtily away. "Yeah right," he said. "It's more likely you just can't aim properly. Also, civilized people put their food on dishes, just in case you forgot."

"I have great aim!" Lance rebuked, any and all of his insecurities getting sealed up in his typical glare. "Besides, what would you know about being civilized? You lived in a shack in the middle of the desert!"

Keith returned his glare. "I still had dishes!"

"I'm pretty sure there was a huge stack of empty ramen cartons by the trash can when we were there," Lance said, cocking a skeptical brow. "I don't think that counts."

"Plastic cartons are still dishes."

"No they're not."

"Yes they _are_!"

"Are you guys seriously arguing about what constitutes a dish?" Pidge deadpanned. "Because I'm pretty sure that's an entirely new level of pettiness, even for you two."

"Well, really, the right kind dish could, arguably, effect how certain foods taste, so-"

"Yeah, see?" Lance gestured to Hunk like he'd just provided the answers to the universe. "Dishes are important. Necessary even. Only animals would live off food supplied in plastic cartons."

Keith gaped. "You're the one that just sprayed food goo all over the kitchen!"

"Animals." Lance shrugged, pretending as though he hadn't heard Keith at all. "Probably born in a barn."

"I was not born in a barn!"

"You and Kaltenecker should get together," Lance added, smirking. "You've probably got a lot in common."

Keith took a deep, steadying breath. "Kaltenecker is a very nice cow that saved our lives," he said steadily. "You should have more respect, _Lance_ , since she's obviously more civilized than you. Last I checked, she didn't _throw her food_ all over her room."

"Don't act like you know her!" Lance hissed. "When was the last time you even visited her?!"

"Oh my _god_ , stop!" Pidge shouted. "You two would argue over whether aliens exist and one of you _is_ one!"

"There was no proof that aliens existed before Shiro crash-landed on Earth," Lance stated stubbornly. "It was completely reasonable to assume there were none."

"Area 51!" Keith said fiercely.

"Nobody cares about your conspiracy theories, Keith," Lance replied snobbishly. "Mothman doesn't exist, okay? Get over it."

Keith glared harder, if at all possible. "You don't know that," he whispered, actually somewhat hurt. Mothman could totally be real.

"For the record," Hunk interjected, "we _are_ currently fighting a war against a bunch of cat people, so…"

"Yeah, _Lance_!"

"Mothman doesn't exist, Keith! Let it go!"

"You met _mermaids_ ," Keith pointed out. "Why is Mothman so out of the question?"

Lance cast him a nasty smile. "Because Mothman is _stupid_."

Keith gasped.

"Oh shit," Pidge muttered. "Shit's gettin' real up in here."

"Well mermaids are _lame_ ," Keith countered.

"Mermaids are beautiful, majestic creatures, you _monster_!"

"I think they _suck_!"

"At least my favorite fantasy creatures actually exist!"

" _Mothman_ _ **does**_ _ **exist**_ _!_ "

"Whoa, whoa," Shiro walked in, raising his hands against the hostility. "What's this about Mothman?"

"Nothing!" Keith snapped.

"Keith and Lance are arguing like an old married couple again," Pidge explained.

"Are not!" they both shouted, Keith hoping his blush would be attributed to anger.

Shiro sighed. "And you were both getting along so well lately."

"Paradise is fleeting," Pidge added.

"We'd get along just fine if Keith would admit his dream of marrying Mothman isn't going to come true," Lance explained.

"I don't want to marry Mothman!"

"If you can prove he exists, I'll make this all up to you by officiating at the wedding," Lance offered.

"You wouldn't even be invited."

"Um, _rude_!"

"Please stop," Shiro said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "No one is marrying Mothman, okay?"

"Don't crush his dreams, Shiro!" Lance hissed dramatically, inching his way over to Keith before setting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "He's a delicate soul in _love_!"

"You _just said_ Mothman doesn't exist!" Keith rebuked.

"Shh, shh," Lance comforted, daring to pet his hair dramatically. "Don't worry, young kitten, you'll have your Mothman soon enough."

"I hate you so much."

"You love me," Lance whispered, continuing to stroke his hair.

"Stop touching me."

Lance clamped his hand over Keith's mouth. "Shhhhhh, it's okay. _Just let me love you_."

Keith wanted to bite him again. And he probably would have if Coran hadn't stomped in two seconds later and started asking questions about all the food goo in the hall and plastered against the doorframe. It was a conversation that immediately drew Lance's attention, which left Keith free of his hands, words, and focus up until dinner.

He was relieved when—unlike that morning—Lance took up his regular seat beside him. Maybe he'd just needed some time to deal with what had happened the night before. That made sense, right?

Honestly, Keith had no idea what to think. Part of him wanted to be with Lance all the time, while another part of him wondered if maybe it'd be better to stay away. If maybe Lance _needed_ him to stay away for a while. But, in the end—though he tried to calm his thoughts in his room, alone—he still ended up convincing himself to at least go _check_ on Lance before they went to bed.

If Lance acted like he didn't want him around, he'd leave. He could get through one night on his own. It'd be fine.

Already dressed in his red slacks and big t-shirt, Keith went to Lance's room and stood before the door for a few moments, considering whether he should buzz first or just go in. He ultimately decided it didn't matter and that his anxieties were stupid, so better to just tackle it all head on.

"Lance?" he questioned as the door slid open, barely taking a step into the room at the same time.

Lance was lying down, and though it looked like he might get up upon the doors opening, he sank back down into the mattress when he saw that it was Keith who'd entered.

"Oh, hey," he said, sounding not at all as energetic as he had before dinner. "I was wondering where you were."

Stepping fully into the room, the doors closed while Keith awkwardly crossed and uncrossed his arms.

"I, uh, just wanted to…" Would admitting that he was checking on him be misconstrued at this point? Did it really matter? "I just wanted to check on you."

"Still alive and breathing, don't worry," Lance assured, though he didn't look at Keith as he answered.

"Oh, right…" Keith fidgeted some, before deciding that maybe it was better he left. "I'll just… go then." He pointed to the door. "Uh, sorry."

Finally, Lance looked at him. "Where are you going? It's almost time to turn in."

Keith blinked, trying to figure out what to say. "Well, after- after last night, I wasn't sure…" If he'd be welcome.

"Oh, right." Lance took a deep breath that appeared as though it required far more energy than it should. "Can we just… forget that even happened?"

No, Keith knew, they absolutely could _not_. "Uh… sure," he said anyway.

"Super." Lance clicked his tongue and pointed finger guns in Keith's direction, which appeared less reassuring and more disheartening with Lance continuing to lay in bed as he was.

Still uncertain, Keith remained awkwardly by the door despite the fact that Lance clearly expected him to stay. He couldn't help it, really. He wasn't the type to brush anything under the rug, let alone something as monumental as what had happened the night before. It tore at every inclination he had, pretending like everything was fine. He _wanted_ to talk to Lance about it, he _wanted_ to discuss what Shiro had told him

Yet he had the impression none of that would be well-received.

"Keith?" Lance asked, the slight break in his voice nearly causing Keith to jump. Instead, it just pricked his heart. "Can you come here? Please?"

Swallowing hard, Keith nodded and gave in, deciding that one night of silence on the subject probably wouldn't make things worse than they already were. Shuffling his way to the bed, he ignored the tired redness lining Lance's eyes as their gazes met. And when Lance opened his arms, he allowed himself a small smile before collapsing into bed with him.

Sliding into Lance's embrace, he laid his head on his chest and closed his eyes. He was wrapped up in Lance's arms in the same moment, the hold tighter than what could be considered typical of their nights spent together. Yes, Keith did usually end up cuddling with Lance, and Lance generally had no apparent qualms with reciprocating, but this was different. He felt crushed to Lance's chest with the pressure of the embrace. Which he wasn't complaining about, but it was still different.

Laying his own arms along Lance's sides, he returned the embrace as best he could.

They said nothing else, Lance eventually turning the lights off. And while Keith was comforted by Lance's presence, his thoughts still buzzed in the back of his mind with their situation. Rather, Lance's situation. Though his anxiety was tempered by the comfort of Lance's breathing body beneath him and the sensation of his heart beating, it still punctured his dreams and mixed together with his memories until he was having nightmares about Lance's death, as usual, only the blood was flowing from his wrists instead of his torso.

"Keith. Hey, Keith, wake up." Lance's voice yanked him from the mental cage, but it hadn't been soon enough. As soon as his eyes popped open, he could feel the salty dampness of sweat coating his body, and the sticky sensation of his clothes sucking to his skin. The darkness was disorienting, the image of Lance slipping away—and the idea that he'd once done that to himself willingly—becoming too much. The nausea came crashing in and it was only because he'd felt it building in his stomach first that Keith was able to act.

Shoving himself off of Lance, he stumbled to the floor before staggering his way into the bathroom. The light came on as he entered, but he'd have known where to find the toilet anyway. Slamming down to his knees in front of it, he was only just in time to be safe before his body was heaving his entire dinner back into the light.

He hated throwing up—he hated the loss of control and the repetitive pain as his muscles pitched themselves upward. He hated how pointless it was and how exhausted it left him afterward. He could train for hours and not feel nearly as tired as he did after puking his guts out.

But mostly he hated that it seemed to rip any emotional control he had up with whatever else was leaving his body.

It left him slumped, sweaty, and teary eyed atop Lance's toilet, his skin clammy and shivering.

"Hey, it's okay," Lance said behind him, his voice only causing the tears to drop from Keith's eyes and smear down his cheeks. "I'm here with you." He was crouched down beside him, hand rubbing gently up and down his back.

In a fit of frustration, Keith nearly reached out and smacked him away. The irony was just too much for him. The night before, it'd been Lance who'd fallen apart while Keith had watched, and Lance had all out refused any kind of comfort.

Yet there he was, offering it to Keith like it was nothing.

Hypocrisy at its finest.

But he didn't push Lance away. He liked having him close and he liked the comfort he offered, for one, and, for two, putting more distance between them wouldn't help either case. The sensation of Lance's hand on his back reminded him that the dream wasn't real and that, even though things were difficult, Lance was there with him.

Instead of collapsing on the floor in a mess of nerves and fear, he could force himself to breathe in time with how Lance rubbed his back. He could find an anchor there and pull himself back to the surface.

Back to reality.

Eventually pushing away from the toilet, Keith leaned up against the cabinet below the sink while Lance got to his feet and retrieved a cup of water and a towel. Keith took the items when they were offered, rinsing his mouth and wiping his face before simply slumping back and closing his eyes.

Lance sat right beside him, their thighs knocking together as he reached up and moved Keith's sweaty bangs out of his face.

"I'm so tired of this," Keith whispered, another tear dropping down his cheek like some kind of leftover expulsion that should have escaped with his dinner.

"I know," Lance murmured, continuing to comb his damp hair back with his fingers.

"Why're our heads so messed up, huh?" he dared to ask.

Lance snorted. "I always tell myself I have to suffer in order to be beautiful."

"Hah, yeah, I don't think that's applicable to me."

"Sure it is," Lance replied. "It's obvious you've suffered quite a bit over the years."

Keith considered his words for a moment. "That's, like, the crappiest kind of compliment to give someone."

"But it _is_ a compliment."

Yeah, Keith supposed it was. And maybe if he didn't feel like a sack of utter shit, he'd have the audacity to blush.

"It'll get better," Lance said quietly. "You just need more time."

And seeing as Keith wasn't a patient person, that was the worst diagnosis someone could give him. "I just want it to stop now," he admitted, knowing he sounded childish and not exactly caring.

"I know you do, Kitten," Lance murmured. "I wish I could do something more for you."

A statement that went straight to Keith's heart and made him nauseous all over again, though for vastly different reasons than the previous. "You're doing enough," he said. "More than enough."

"So what you're saying," Lance started, "is that you don't want me to kiss it better?"

Keith's eyes popped open, his gaze snapping to the smirking boy beside him. "What?"

Lance started laughing. "Oh my god, your _face_!"

Keith pursed his lips in annoyance. "I'm _sorry_. It's not every day someone suggests kissing me as a solution to my problems." That had _never_ happened, in fact.

"It's just a saying," he explained, once he'd gotten his laughter under control. "Moms say it to their kids, you know, when they get hurt. Because I guess a mom's kiss makes the pain go away or something. Obviously it doesn't really work, but whatever. That's not the point."

"Well, I don't have a mom, so," Keith shrugged, "guess I wouldn't know."

"Guess not."

"Though, to be honest," Keith said, once again closing his eyes and forcefully fighting the dizziness splitting through his skull, "I'd be willing to try just about anything." Breath trembling, he gulped back on the emotional helplessness that was once again pressing up through his chest.

"Yeah, I get that," Lance replied, sounding honestly like he did. They sat some moments in silence, Lance still combing his finger through Keith's hair. He eventually slipped some of it behind his ear. And Keith only knew he was leaning closer when his warm breath splashed across his cheek.

Lance's lips against his temple were dry, but soft, and contrasted so much with the heat of his sweaty skin that Keith felt its shocking effects all the way down through his legs.

"You'll get better, Keith," Lance whispered near his ear. "I know you will."

Lashes fluttering open, Keith glanced over at him, wondering if perhaps there was something to be said for "kissing it better." Or maybe it was the sight of Lance's soft smile that chased the shadows away. No matter, Keith was thankful.

Leaning down, he rested his head on Lance's shoulder. Lance's hand—long, bony fingers and all—rested between them, and Keith considered it for a second before reaching down. Carefully, he lifted the limb, taking in the familiar creases and few freckles hiding in the dark hues of his complexion.

Turning it over, he zeroed in on the scar marring the underside, the mark like a brand in comparison to the smoothness of everything else. Yet, somehow, it seemed perfect in the same thought. He'd never known Lance without these scars, after all, and so would never be able to draw up any kind of comparisons. There was no before in Keith's mind, only now. And "now" was the Lance he'd fallen in love with—even if "now" needed work when it came to both of them.

Pulling Lance's arm closer, he rested his own lips on the blemished skin of his wrist, aware of the way he tensed as a result. But he didn't pull away, eventually relaxing. Only then did Keith release him, huddling closer and hooking his arm through Lance's.

"You could get better too," he whispered, meaning every word.

Beside him, Lance's breath caught, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he eventually leaned his own head atop Keith's. They stayed together beneath the glaring light of the bathroom, broken maybe, but a bit more than whole, sitting side by side.

A bit more than the sum of what they thought they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rubs on healing balm for last chapter* Sorry 'bout that.
> 
> Sad boys are sad, but at least they're getting along again. Kind of XD
> 
> Also, KISSES :D But seriously, this is like the angsty story I've ever written. wth


	10. Chapter 10

Lance didn't blame Keith. Mostly he blamed himself. It was only logical that someone would ask about his scars at some point. He should have had better self-control and not lost it the moment Keith had addressed them, no matter how subtlety he'd done so. Thankfully, the second time Keith had brought up the subject—with the kiss—Lance had been too tired to react.

That didn't mean he _wanted_ to address it, however. He regretted breaking down as he had and dragging Keith into his problems. They all had more important things to worry about, which meant he had to do his best to show Keith that his situation wasn't really as bad as it was. Everyone had weak moments, or so that was what he'd claim if Keith brought it up. Thus far, the subject hadn't been broached, but Lance wasn't sure if that would go on forever.

He hoped it would…

Sighing quietly to himself, he continued to stare up at the ceiling from where he lay on the bed. He hadn't been able to get back to sleep following Keith's episode, but that really wasn't so out of the ordinary. He oftentimes had trouble sleeping, which was why he sometimes wore headphones and an eye mask—to make what was already difficult a little easier.

Too busy being miserable to dream, he supposed.

Still, he'd gotten a few hours, which would be enough. What was important was that Keith was sleeping. They did have to get up in a few minutes, however. Or at least Lance did. To be frank, he really didn't want to get up. Most of his mornings were like that as of late. Sometimes things weren't this bad, but he'd been pretty low lately. Lower than he had been in a while. Between dying and Keith's condition, he was feeling pretty guilty anyway. All of that mixed with the issues he inherently had and getting up in the morning was damn-near painful.

It wasn't that he didn't want to get up, he did, but it was like his body was a cage—a weight—and he was trapped beneath it. Paralyzed even, and full of nauseous aching. Sometimes it was so bad that all he could do was lay there and cry, helpless to his own baseless despair.

Today wasn't one of those days, he hoped. He was tired, yes, but he couldn't show any more signs of weakness in front of Keith. No crying, no wasting time. He _had_ to get up.

And, yet, he didn't.

Peering down his nose, he watched as the top of Keith's head—which was resting on his chest—slowly rose and fell with the rhythm of his, Lance's, breathing. He was lying off to the side and curled up on top of him. It was a regular position for them—Keith using Lance as a makeshift pillow—and Lance knew that if he got up, Keith likely wouldn't wake. Not right away, anyway.

Which meant that Keith wasn't much of an excuse to stay in bed.

He really didn't want to train. He loved flying Blue, but it was just so… hard. Not the training itself, but just… _being_. He wanted time to stop. He wanted to stay right where he was for the rest of the day.

He didn't want to disrupt the queasy weakness permeating his whole body. Just the thought of getting up was upsetting him. And it was stupid. _So_ incredibly stupid.

Walking wasn't a challenge for him, nor was eating breakfast or talking to his friends. Getting up was _effortless_. So why, _why_ was it so difficult?

Why did his heart beat tiredly in his chest and why did his thoughts feel removed from his own body?

Why didn't he have the same control everyone else did?

And why was he _crying_?

He could feel the tears rolling down from the corners of his eyes, despite his efforts to avoid exactly what he was doing. The tears had to stop, he told himself. Keith seeing him like this wasn't an option.

He had to _stop_.

But like he was watching his own body from some severed plane, none of his actions were able to be dictated. It was only when Keith moved atop him, groaning a bit in his sleep and shoving his nose more fully into Lance's shirt, that some of his nerves ignited, but only briefly.

He couldn't bring this on Keith. He _couldn't_.

He had to _move_!

And, yet…

Nothing.

Keith was waking, another irritated groan echoing around the room as he slowly pushed himself off of Lance's chest. His nose was scrunched up in irritation and his eyes were squinted with sleep. He blinked at Lance blearily, their gazes meeting before he released a comically huge yawn.

The sight made Lance smile shortly, the effort it took to do so zapping him whether he wanted it to or not. Like he had a vial full and every small action was like unplugging a leak, as opposed to pouring it at his own volition.

So _stupid_.

Keith continued to stare at him, becoming gradually alert. While Lance released a deep, shaky sigh and put his attention back on the ceiling.

Eventually, Keith began shifting, but Lance didn't look his way. It was only once Keith was leaning over him, staring down, that he bothered to flick his eyes to his face. He was frowning, black hair a mess, dark eyes shifting over Lance's expression searchingly. Whatever it was he was looking for, Lance was sure he didn't have it. He was disappointing like that.

Keith then reached up and with one hand moved Lance's bangs to the side, before leaning down and pressing his lips to his forehead.

If he'd had the energy, Lance might have laughed.

"I don't think kissing it better is going to work," he managed to croak out, ashamed of his own weakness and the fact that he wasn't hiding it at all. He'd been doing so well keeping Keith out of it, but now that he _knew_ , any inclination to do so had apparently evaporated.

Then again, maybe it didn't matter. Keith _did_ know, so why find the effort? So long as he didn't drag Keith in further…

Yet, really, wasn't that the worst part of this whole thing? He couldn't help dragging him in, could he? He was that wretched, that useless, and that unforgiveable. Keith was dealing with his own issues and yet there too were Lance's spread out like the pieces of a popped balloon.

He hated it! He hated it all _so much_!

"I know," Keith murmured, his lips still so close that they brushed lightly over Lance's forehead. "But we have to get up."

Lance knew that. Usually he was up. But lately…

The tears came faster and his breathing grew choppier.

"I _can't_ ," he whispered, the words feeling like hot irons being ripped from his throat. Why had he said them? Why was he getting Keith involved in this? Stop!

He _could_ get up. He had every morning before this one. He had in the middle of the night. Just get up. Get up! _Get up_!

Keith kissed his forehead again. "Then I'll help you."

"No…" He had to do it on his own. He just…

"Yes," Keith said firmly, though his tone was soft.

Lance tried to shake his head, but he couldn't tell if he'd pulled it off or not.

"Let me help you, Lance."

 _No_!

More tears.

"C'mon," Keith continued, leaning back and dragging his hands down Lance's arms. Until their hands were held, a majority of the tight grip coming from Keith's end. But Lance would be lying if he claimed to have not reciprocated a little.

He wanted to get up. He wanted this to be _easy_.

And he'd felt alone so long.

Moving backwards, Keith pulled and was easily able to get Lance into sitting. Like he was a child or physically disabled. Which only made Lance feel worse, if at all possible. But it seemed his self-loathing knew no bounds. Shoulders slumping, he sighed.

"Hey, it's alright," Keith comforted, reaching up and wiping at the tear scars across his cheeks.

"No," Lance said flatly, "it's not. I shouldn't be like this."

"You can't help-"

"I mean with you," Lance explained gruffly.

The laugh that left Keith's throat sounded forced. "Why not me?"

"Because you've got enough to deal with. I _can_ deal with this on my own."

"I know that," Keith said quietly. "But you don't have to."

"Yes, I do."

"Why?"

"Because it does nothing but bring people trouble, that's why." Like his parents and his siblings. How many friends had he lost when he'd failed the Garrison exam and gone downhill? Nobody wanted to deal with this.

"Lance." Keith huffed. "Like I'm not bringing you trouble every night? It doesn't matter how much trouble it is, I _want_ to help you."

"There's nothing you can do!"

"I'm not saying I want to cure you!" Keith snapped. "But that doesn't mean I can't help you the same way you help me." Reaching out, he laid a hand on Lance's. "Don't shut me out. I get how shitty it is to open up when you don't want to, but I know just as well as anyone that sometimes you have to anyway."

"What am I supposed to open up about?" Lance asked. "There's nothing to say. I always feel shitty and there's nothing to do about it. There's literally nothing to say."

"Maybe there _is_ something to do about it, or say."

"Look, Keith, I get what you're trying to do, but I've been down this road before. Just trust me when I say it's not worth the effort." _He_ wasn't worth the effort.

"I don't believe that," Keith said stubbornly.

"Well that's the thing about _my_ mental illness, isn't it? I don't need your validation to understand it."

"If you'd just _try_ -"

" _No_!" The word was practically shouted, and edged in a harshness that whipped between them like a cold wind. It silenced them both, Lance refusing to look at Keith, who was watching him above pursed lips. Lance knew he was wrong—Keith _was_ only trying to help—but he wished he wouldn't. He'd only end up disappointed.

"I'm just saying," Keith started slowly, "that maybe you don't know everything that can be do-"

"Don't tell me what I don't know," he snapped, trying to keep the meanness in the pit of his stomach. Yet it erupted up through him anyway. It was a feeling he'd been quite accustomed to prior to his "death." He hadn't wanted to hurt Keith, hadn't ever wanted to, really. But the jealousy and inadequacy… He'd been doing good lately, not giving in to his own pettiness. He should have known it couldn't last—nothing good could. "You think that just because you're fucked up now too, you have a say in this?" He pointed to his own head. "Sorry, but one mess doesn't help clean up another. If anything, it only makes it worse. So do us both a favor and stop acting like you have any idea what you're talking about. You don't and you never will."

No, the words themselves hadn't been the culprits, but the implication was there. An implication that Lance didn't really feel was true and that he'd never wanted Keith to think was either. It wasn't Keith's own issues that were making anything worse—Lance was doing quite well with that all on his own.

The silence that followed his speech was bloated, the two of them staring at one another for far, far too long. Keith's gaze eventually turned into a glare, one that was cold and steely and ultimately impatient.

But he didn't leave. No, that didn't happen until Lance looked away. Once he did that, Keith took a deep, measured breath before getting to his feet and marching from the room.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Lance broke.

It was his fault, he knew that. He was the one pushing Keith, after all. He was the one being nasty. It was a wonder Keith wanted to be around him at all. But perhaps trauma was the limiting variable in those decisions.

Pulling his hand up, Lance wiped at his nose, lips trembling as the tears once again streaked down his cheeks.

Truth was, he liked Keith. He'd always liked Keith. Even back at the Garrison, he'd wanted to be friends with him. Once upon a time, he'd even approached him. It'd been a few days after he'd started. Neither he nor Hunk had been particularly good at making friends, not back then. Hunk had always been too nervous and though Lance was far from being an introvert, being at the Garrison had been intimidating.

But Keith had always been alone—in the lunch room, in the classroom, in the dorms. So Lance had figured—after discussing with Hunk in his broken English—that Keith was in need of friends as much as they were. Thus, reason to befriend him themselves. And though he'd been worried about his ability to speak properly, Lance had gone for it. He and Hunk had sat with Keith at lunch one day, only to watch as Keith looked blankly between them before getting up and hastily walking away.

From then on, Lance had sworn himself as Keith's rival and done everything in his power to hate him. It'd only grown worse when Keith had turned out to be the best pilot in their class, and Shiro's protégé, and the favorite of everyone at the Garrison. Yet he'd never affiliated with anyone much and come across—at least to Lance—as a complete snob.

But that hadn't stopped his jealousy, or his anger, or his frustration. He'd been overly cruel and insensitive when Keith had been kicked out, despite knowing what had happened to Shiro just prior. And he'd been continually nasty even after they'd ended up on the Voltron team together.

But none of that changed the fact that Lance really and truly did _like_ him. Perhaps that was the whole problem. From the very beginning, he'd liked him. Though he'd been a poor communicator at the time, he'd hatched a plan with Hunk to approach him for nearly a week before he'd done it. He'd even rehearsed his English in the mirror.

Only to be rejected before getting the chance to say hello. Then beaten at everything—put in his place by comparison—and _forgotten_. They'd had at least six classes together since they'd started at the Garrison, yet Keith hadn't even remembered him.

Now he had Keith's attention, but it was only by virtue of a horrible circumstance.

Which was why Keith shouldn't be bothering with him in the first place. Once Keith was better—because he _would_ be—he wouldn't need to affiliate with Lance any more than he'd had to before. They were teammates, friends, but they didn't have to be this close. And Keith didn't have to be intimately involved in Lance's issues.

He didn't want him to be, or so Lance kept telling himself over and over and over again.

Yet no part of him really wanted to believe it. The truth was that he wanted to be just as close to Keith as he had the first day he'd spotted him through the lecture hall during their first year orientation. No amount of Keith being out of his league had changed that, and getting to know him while out in space had only made it worse. Keith was brave, thoughtful, even kind. Shy and awkward, sure, but that had only been more charming. Especially because it'd led Lance to understanding that Keith wasn't the stuck-up poster-boy he'd assumed, but more like a socially inept turtle.

Yet, it was so much easier to push him away. Easier for all parties involved.

Keith deserved better. After all he'd been through in his life, the last thing he needed was Lance and his baggage of pathetic issues.

It was better this way.

Taking fifteen minutes to cry and gather himself, Lance swallowed his sharp, splintered emotions and finally found the gumption to get up on his own. His hand shook as he tried to rush through his morning routine, and he nearly broke down and collapsed back into bed when he was getting dressed.

But like so many mornings before this one, he somehow made his way to breakfast. He pulled his mask into place and played his part just as he was supposed to. Even if he couldn't bring himself to look Keith's way or speak a single word to him.

They didn't have typical training that day. Instead, they stopped near a galactic resource outpost. It was stocked full of Galra soldiers, but their presence hadn't stopped the commerce from continuing. Team Voltron was in dire need of supplies, especially food, and so they all felt it was worth the risk. But in order to draw as little attention as possible, only two paladins were to go in.

Lance volunteered immediately. After screwing up and putting a stopper on everything more a whole month, the least he could do was start paying that back.

At first, he was surprised when Keith also volunteered to come. So surprised that he actually looked at him. When Shiro decided that it would be Hunk who would go, however, Lance knew why Keith had volunteered. The horror that had quickly swept through his expression had made that clear enough.

So Lance felt guilty for that too.

But Hunk knew what they needed in the kitchen, so it was only logical that he go. Thus, Lance and Hunk ended up sneaking their way in and remaining discreet beneath their rather simplistically rogue disguises. Sneaking in and out for food and other misdeeds was an activity Hunk and Lance were well-versed in, however. There was a bit more at stake in a hostile space base than the empty Garrison hallways, but nothing the two of them hadn't tackled before. They worked well together, keeping in touch with the castle when they could and only getting into a few minor situations that Lance had easily talked them out of.

Yet, every time a close call was so much as entertained, Lance thought of Keith. How worried was he, back on the castle? How tormented?

His feelings about Keith only degraded from bad to worse during the whole mission. But his high-flying comments and typical flirtations made it easy to hide. Like always, it was an act he fell into seamlessly.

They ended up back at the castle with a generous hall, Lance only making eye contact with Keith for a few seconds while they unloaded everything. And though he could tell Keith was trying to hide it, the tension in his shoulders and his clenched fists had given it away.

Lance blamed himself.

For a few hours following the mission, Lance stayed in his room and did nothing—aside from thinking of Keith and wondering what he should do about their situation. The guilt eventually gnawed at him badly enough that he knew he had to do _something_ , if only for Keith's sake. And it'd taken him another hour to find the motivation to get up.

He ended up wandering the castle, looking for Keith in all his regular haunts. Not in the training room, not in the common room, not on the bridge.

It was only when Lance began to approach the kitchen that he took pause. Through the door he could hear something that sounded like muffled music, which wasn't so unheard of. They'd all had phones with them when they'd been shot into space—aside from Shiro—so they all had generous music collections. And through some Pidge-gizmo magic, she'd been able to download all their music to the castle systems, much like she had Lance's playlist into Blue.

Hunk wasn't a singer, he was hummer. Pidge hardly listened to music. And even if Shiro did like to sing, Lance couldn't imagine he'd do it so openly in the kitchen.

It was the exact kind of thing Lance would do, because he didn't care who heard him. Or, maybe, it was the kind of thing someone who was a bit socially unaware would do if they thought they were safe from being overheard.

Creeping up to the door, Lance leaned in closer. But though he could hear the music and an accompanying, real-life voice, he couldn't make out the words behind the sound-proofing of the kitchen door.

Standing stupidly outside for a few seconds, he eventually reasoned that it was either face Keith now or later. There was no getting around it, really. And maybe if he was the one to approach Keith first, he could smooth over what had transpired that morning.

Now or never. Do or die.

Besides, he'd caught the music switching to a new song, so might as well take the opportune moment to make his entrance.

Pressing the button that would send the doors swooshing open, Lance took a deep breath and walked through, as prepared as he could be to greet Keith with a boisterous, over-the-top, likely insult-laden greeting.

He was too slow, however. As the doors opened, he realized that it hadn't been the silence of a changing song that he'd heard (or not heard), but the soft guitar riffs of one that had already begun. With his mouth open to say something, his entrance was cut off by the voice of the artist and Keith's attempts to sing along.

"If I could love you in the right way, I wouldn't let you down before I go," Keith sang. Well, tried to. He more or less spoke the words without any of the note variation of the original singer. And though the music was up loudly enough to be heard through the door, Keith's flat voice overtook it. "I woke up in a black haze, Tomorrow I'll be plowing through the snow."

He stood at the counter, head bowed, and was half-heartedly slapping a space sandwich together. Clearly, he had no idea he'd been walked in on—likely due to the music—and though Lance knew he should draw attention to himself, he didn't. Instead, he watched as Keith gracefully spread some kind of edible yet foreign pink paste to some blue colored bread and listened to the way he spoke the lyrics like he was reading them off a page.

"Your heart is strong, yeah, and your back is made of gold. These lights don't work and these tires are getting old."

Smiling despite himself, Lance pursed his lips against the expression and crossed his arms over his chest. Just in time for the chorus to pick up and Keith to embrace it more whole-heartedly than Lance had expected.

Suddenly, he wasn't speaking the words, but shouting them alongside the singer who had only moderately raised his voice by comparison.

"Can I put you in my pocket and save you for later?!

"Cause you're too good to lose; you're the flavor I savor!

"Can I put you in my pocket and save you for later?!

"Cause you're the trouble I want, you're my troublemaker!"

Lance couldn't help it—he laughed. Well, giggled more like, but it was still enough to have Keith whipping around on him, butter knife raised threateningly.

 _Busted_.

"What the fuck, Lance?!" Keith yelled over the music, before reaching out and silencing it via the holographic screen above the counter. He was breathing heavily—no doubt from the adrenaline of surprise—and was stiff as he watched Lance's smile grow uncontrollably wider. Until he was a huffing mess of stuttering sounds and a beet-red face.

Lance giggled again.

"Fuck you!" Keith hissed, glaring before turning back to his sandwich.

"Do you always scream when music plays, or is that some kind of new singing style they do out here in space?" Lance asked, knowing he deserved whatever nastiness was headed his way.

"You know, you _could_ make fun of me," Keith snapped back, "or maybe—for once—just _not_." He was almost violent as he slapped a leaf of purple space lettuce on his sandwich.

"Oh, c'mon," Lance griped, hesitating for just a second before waltzing over to the counter. "No need to be embarrassed. We all need that alone-in-the-car, singing-at-the-top-of-our-lungs feeling once in a while. I sing when I'm in Blue."

"I know," Keith replied testily, refusing to look up at him. "We _all_ know."

It was supposed to be a jab, but Lance was much more concerned with Keith's lack of eye contact than any criticism of his singing. Would Keith normally be giving him the cold shoulder in this situation? Or was this the result of the morning? That was why Lance was there, after all. Wasn't it? To somehow garner any kind of assurance that, despite him being the worst person in the whole universe, Keith didn't hate him. And to get it without actually having to bring up the subject.

It wasn't fair, he knew that. Keith deserved an apology. But the mere thought of searching for those words had Lance choking back on his emotions like a swell of water he wouldn't be able to control. Keith knew he was sorry, right? Or maybe that was just expecting too much.

Maybe it didn't matter if Keith knew or not, maybe he still expected to hear it out loud.

Swallowing hard, Lance took a shaky breath and turned toward the counter. Like a child trying to avoid trouble while their parent was busy, he flicked at the holographic music player, shifting though their long list of accumulated songs and looking for nothing in particular.

Beside him, Keith diligently built his sandwich and pretended like he was alone.

Twitching his finger up and down on the screen, Lance eventually decided that the quiet was just too much. He wasn't brave enough to fill the emptiness with his own words, so, instead, he tapped on the first song his scrolling provided him, filling the kitchen with the snapping intro of the classic "That's What I Like" by Bruno Mars.

A few beats and the voice of the long-dead artist was popping in their ears. _I gotta condo in Manhattan, Baby girl, what's happenin'? You an' your ass invited, So gon' and get to clappin.'_ No, it wasn't exactly the right song for the mood. In fact, it was practically jarring with its upbeat funk and optimistic attitude. _I'll rent a beach house in Miami, Wake up with no jammies_. Lance dared a to look at Keith out of the corner of his eyes. _Lobster tail for dinner, Julio serve that scampi._ But Keith was far more focused on putting the final slice of bread to his sandwich to give Lance the time of day.

 _You got it if you want it. Got, got it if you want it. Said you got it if you want it. Take my wallet if you want it now_.

He was gonna leave. He was going to take his weird colored space sandwich and walk away like Lance hadn't barged in on him and he wasn't dependent on him to sleep at night. Even if he couldn't avoid him, Keith was going to act as if he could.

_Jump in the Cadillac, Girl let's put some miles on it._

Which Lance kind of thought was worse than if he really did drop him completely. _Did_ Keith only put up with him because he had no choice? They were friends, though. Or… had been.

_Anything you want, Just to put a smile on it._

Keith was picking up his sandwich. He was leaving.

 _You deserve it, baby, you deserve it allllllll_.

"And _I'm_ gon-na **give** it to _yooouuuu_!" Lance did the only thing he could—he caused a scene that had every bit of Keith's attention snapping his way whether he liked it or not.

The thing about him—about Lance—was that he had a lot of useless talents that were not at all applicable to space adventures. Like his above average singing voice and being able to hold his breath for eleven minutes straight. Or an unnatural knowledge of the dances in retro music videos because he'd memorized them all as a kid when he'd been forced to babysit his younger siblings for hours and hours and hours.

Which meant that, as he belted out the lyrics so loudly that Keith actually jumped beside him, he straightened his posture and raised his hands to snap his fingers in accordance with the next stanza.

"Gold jewelry _shinin'_ so **bright**." He cocked his foot and snapped his right hand up for the second accent at the appropriate time. "Straw-berry _champagne_ on _**ice**_." He held up his hand like he was holding a glass, all the while bending his joints as was expected to the beat. "Lucky for you," he flicked his fingers forward and pointed across the counter, "that's what I **like** ," he waved his arms and shimmied to the side, "that's what I **like** ," a slight snapping bow at his knees and a double-handed wave. "Lucky for you, that's what I **like** , that's what I **like**." He slid back, before pretending to stumble toward Keith on the upbeat.

He caught himself on the next lyric, swishing his hand through the air as his feet carried him back into the groove. "Sex _by_ the _fire_ at **night** ," his knees wobbled in a complicated, jolting body roll that had him thrusting his hips on the final word. "Silk _sheets_ and _diamonds_ all _**white**_ -"

"Lance-"

"Lucky for you, that's what I **like** , that's what I **like** -"

" _Lance_ -"

"Lucky for you, that's what I **like** , that's what I **like**."

"What are you _doing_?!"

"I'm talkin' trips to _Puerto Rico_ ," Lance continued, pulling himself up close to Keith. So close that the other boy felt the need to lean back in alarm. "Say the word and we _go_." He pretended to gesture off in the distance, leaning in so close that there were only inches between his chest and Keith's. "You can be my _freaka_ ," Lance winked, "Girl, I'll be a  _fleeko_ ," he didn't hold back on the body rolling hip thrusts, which had Keith's face igniting red as he watched in shock, " _ **mamacita**_."

Lance was belting out the next lyric before Keith could wrap his head around the dancing, however, snapping back up and holding his fist in the air like he was trying to sing to the stars themselves. " _I would never make a prooomise that I caaan't keeeeep!_ " Instead of getting down on his knees for the next part, he simply leaned back and continued singing up to the ceiling. " _I promise that your smile ain't gon' never leeeeeave!_ "

"What is happening right now…?"

It was a fair question, and one that Lance tried to answer privately, for himself, between lyrics. "Shopping sprees in **Paris**." Was he singing to Keith? "Everything 24 **karats**." And if so, did that mean he was _flirting_ with him? "Now take a-look in that mirror." Oh no, how had this happened? "Now tell me who's the fairest." Not that he didn't _want_ to flirt with Keith, but it'd never really seemed like a smart or viable option.

"Is it _you_?" He pointed a finger at Keith and released a smarmy grin. _Is it you_.

Oh shit, what was he _doing_?!

"Is it _me_?" He whipped his hand around to point at himself. _Is it me_.

"Say it's _**us**_ ," but it was too late to stop, wasn't it? "And I'll agreeeeeeee, baby!"

Keith was watching him, gaping, with a face still so heated Lance could have cooked an egg on it. And while part of him was freaking out that he was fucking _serenading Keith with Bruno Mars_ , the inherent flirt deep down in his bones was far too pleased with the fact that, though he was shocked, Keith wasn't pushing him away. Which was, frankly, well within reason of something he would do if he really wanted to cut the show short.

" **Jump** in the Cadillac, _Girl let's put some miles on it_ ," he continued to sing, using the motion of shifting gears to shuffle even closer to Keith. " _ **Any-thing**_ you want, _just to put a smile on it_." They were so close now that their shirts brushed, Keith leaning back against the counter.

"You deserve it, baby, you deserve it _allllll_ ," Lance spun in place, Keith sucking in a fast breath once they were face to face again, "And _I'm_ gon-na **give** **it** to _yoouuu_!

"Gold jewelry _shinin'_ so **bright** , Strawberry _champagne_ on _**ice**_." He leaned in so close that he could feel Keith's breath across his lips. "Lucky for you, that's what I **like** , that's what I **like** ," he chanted, grinning yet again and pressing himself up against Keith so their bodies were abruptly flush together, "Lucky for you, that's what I **like** , that's what I **like**.

"Sex _by_ the _fire_ at **night** ," he rolled his body again, the thrust that lined with Keith's hips causing the other boy to gasp, "Silk _sheets_ and _diamonds_ all **white**." Yet he wasn't pushed away. Keith let him grind up against him, his face still stained with red as he blinked at Lance with an expression that was both shocked and… and curiously interested.

"Lucky for you, that's what I **like** , that's what I **like**." They were leaning so close that their foreheads touched, Lance's arms stretching out and framing Keith between himself and the counter. "Lucky for you, that's what I **like** , that's what I **like**."

Lance dared to rub his hips into Keith's again and was far too satisfied with the slight tremble that echoed in Keith's breath as a result. "You say you wanna _gooooood_ _tiiiime_ ," he sang, his nose bumping Keith's, "Well _here_ I am, baby," he breathed him in, " _here_ I am, baby.

" _Talk_ to me, _talk_ to me, _ta_ _ **aaa**_ _alk_ to me- _teee_ _ **el**_ _l me_ ," he pleaded desperately, his lips ghosting against Keith's own. " _What's_ _ **ooon**_ _your_ _ **mind**_ _?_ "

Reaching up, Keith's hands found his hips, his hold like a brand through the thin cotton of Lance's shirt.

"If you want it, _pleeeease_ , come-an-get it," Lance begged, his eyes closing. "All this is _heeeeere_ for _**yoouuu**_."

The hold on Lance's hips grew tighter.

"Tell me, baby," Lance murmured, "Tell me-tell me, baby-"

He ground his hips again, an excited shockwave passing through him when Keith rolled back against him. " _What you tryna'_ _ **do**_ _?_ "

He was hardly singing anymore, more or less whispering instead. Though the song blared out around them, the words felt oddly personal. But, then again, they were pressed up against the counter, bodies flush and breathing heavy. It _was_ rather personal. Intimate. And not where Lance had anticipated he'd end up.

No, it wasn't okay. He was supposed to be keeping Keith at a safe distance, not hitting on him in one of the most explicit ways possible.

Yet he didn't stop. It was too good, the feeling of Keith's heated body trapped against his own. He'd grown so accustomed to it, having Keith close. Every night they'd spent together, he'd been careful. He got up first, made sure any lingering physical effects of his desire were hidden or under control.

But as of then, there was no hiding. He rolled his hips again, hyperaware of the tightness in his jeans and the firm pressure that lined Keith's own. Like possessive vices, Keith's hands fisted his shirt, dragging it up some and allowing his knuckles to brush Lance's bare skin.

Pressing them both as snuggly against the counter as he could, Lance used it as an anchor, continuing rub himself against Keith. Their foreheads remained pressed together, Lance daring to open his eyes and meet the heavy, pupil-blown stare that looked back.

Their noses brushed, their heavy breathing intermingling as Lance once again moved his lips within a hair's breadth of Keith's. "Lucky for you," he purred, "that's what I like, _Kitten_."

Keith expelled a panting breath, his lips parting with wanton desire that flashed across his face in a warm, fresh wave of pink. Not with embarrassment, but _longing_.

Subtle, maybe, but one of the hottest things Lance had ever seen.

Yet, of course—like a plot device used in an overly dramatic piece of fiction—the doors to the kitchen chose that moment to swish open, the heavy mood vacuuming away as they both tensed.

It was the door on the other side of the room, in front of the counter, and so Keith—like he'd been sucked up with the atmosphere—ducked down, leaving him invisible to anyone on the other side. While Lance, suffering whiplash from the whole ordeal, struggled for words and air, only turning his attention to their intruder when he was spoken to.

"Lance, have you seen Keith?" Shiro asked as he walked in, his brows pulled together in frustration. Still recovering, Lance opened his mouth to answer only for nothing to come out. It was only when Keith—balled up on the floor beside him—reached out and pinched his leg that he found his bearings.

"Uh, can't say that I have," Lance finally said, gulping and forcing out a smile. While simultaneously kicking back at Keith for pinching him. "W-Why do you ask?"

"He said he wanted to talk to me," Shiro replied, his frustration turning to concern. "Nothing serious, but I wanted to catch him before he headed to bed."

"Oh, well…" Lance cleared his throat while simultaneously reaching out and turning off the music, which had long since changed to a track he didn't have the concentration to recognize. "If I run into him, I'll definitely send him your way, Space Dad."

"Why do you insist on calling me that?" Shiro asked flatly.

Lance shrugged. "Can't deny the truth."

Shaking his head, Shiro waved him off before heading back out the way he'd come. As soon as the doors slid closed, Lance released the tightness he hadn't realized was choking his whole body. Placing a shaky hand on his chest, he hunched over the counter and took in heaving breaths.

" _Whew_ …"

Beside him, Keith glared, face so red it matched his jacket. Thus, naturally—once Lance composed himself—he pulled out his award-winning smirk in response.

Which earned him a swift kick to the shin.

"Ah! Fuck!" he yelled, reaching down to cradle his leg before promptly losing his balance and tumbling to the floor. "What the hell, man?!" he griped, teeth clenched in pain as he pulled his wounded appendage to his chest and rolled onto his side.

"What the hell my _ass_!" Keith hissed, finally unfolding from his mortified crouch to lean closer. "What was that stunt?! What's wrong with you?!"

"I'm never going to be able to walk again!" Lance lamented. "I'll have to go into the healing pod for this! Oh, quiznak!"

"You want something really painful? I'd be more than happy to give it to you!" Keith snapped, his face still a deep shade of scarlet.

The pain was finally fading from Lance's shin, and he might have had a few nasty things to say in response if Keith's innocently confused, albeit angry, expression hadn't pulled the smarm out of him with the depth of a soup ladle.

"I can think of something I could give to _you_ ," he said, grinning.

Keith's skin reddened further, if at all possible.

"You idiot!" he barked, reaching out like he was going to try and land a punch on Lance's arm. But he rolled to the side before it could collide, which caused Keith to teeter off balance. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Lance stuck his leg out and knocked him to his butt, which—naturally—only made Keith madder.

They tussled for a moment, though Lance should have known better than to think he could come out on top. He never did. Like usual, he ended up pinned to the ground beneath Keith's weight, the other boy straddling his hips between his thighs while Lance, on his back, was struggling to throw him off. But then Keith was holding his hands to the kitchen floor above his head and he knew there was no winning.

"What are you trying to pull?!" Keith asked, tone accusatory. Yet, still, that baffled kind of desperation remained in his gaze, which tempered Lance's irritation when he normally would have been snarling back.

"I'm not trying to pull anything," he lied, kind of. "Though I could think of a few things in need of some gentle handling, if you know what I mean." Clicking his tongue, he rolled his hips up into Keith's.

"Stop it!" Keith snapped, leaning lower and centering his weight more firmly. "This isn't funny!"

"I didn't know it was supposed to be."

"Don't _mess_ with me, Lance."

An allegation that actually kind of hurt. But Lance couldn't really blame him for jumping to that conclusion either. Not like they had a past filled with good-natured experiences, aside from recently (and even those were questionable). Lance didn't have a good track record for being nice to Keith, let alone flirting with him.

"I'm not messing with you," he admitted quietly, his own cheeks flushing. "I'd never do that to someone…" No, Lance couldn't quite describe how they'd gotten to this point—they'd gone from zero to a hundred faster than he could comprehend—but he wouldn't abuse that sort of thing. Truthfully, he'd never imagined ever being in this position, whether he'd wanted it or not. Which left him just as surprised as Keith.

And maybe a bit overwhelmed, now that he was reflecting.

His words left Keith speechless. Jaw tight, he stared down at Lance liked he'd grown two heads, his own rearing back as his lips pulled to the side in one of the most adorable expressions of bewilderment Lance had ever seen. He could tell the gears were churning swiftly behind Keith's dark eyes, but how much progress they were making was questionable.

"I don't understand," Keith eventually said. "You like girls."

Lance almost laughed. Almost.

"I like pretty things, Kitten," he corrected. He wasn't shy about his sexuality, not really. But it'd just never come up. Didn't matter to him whether someone was a guy or a girl, if he was attracted to them, that was that. Just so happened that he hadn't found a space dude to hit on in front of the team yet. Well, until that moment anyway.

"Oh…" Keith said stupidly. "But-"

Of course, being in the kitchen wasn't exactly the best place to have this kind of discussion—not with the potential for interruptions and all that. It really shouldn't have shocked them that, around dinner time, more than just Shiro would walk in on them. The doors to the side of the counter swishing open, both Keith and Lance turned their attention to Hunk and Pidge as they strolled in.

Unlike with Shiro, they were at the door that allowed a full view of what was going on behind the counter, the fact that Lance was still pinned under Keith not going unnoticed by either them.

For a moment, Lance panicked, as did Keith. While Hunk and Pidge looked them over in momentary surprise, then looked to the sandwich that Keith had, at some point, dropped to the floor, before Hunk turned a disappointed eye back on both of them.

"Really?" he asked, food being wasted one of the few things he couldn't tolerate. "You two couldn't even be in the kitchen together for two seconds without fighting? We just got those sandwich supplies today." Lips pouting, he looked sadly back at the sandwich.

Keith and Lance appeared appropriately ashamed, though likely not for the reasons their friends would assume.

"Uh, sorry," Keith stammered, scrambling hastily back to his feet and off of Lance.

"Yeah, bud, sorry," Lance added, lying on the floor a second longer before pushing himself to his feet. No one liked an unhappy Hunk.

"What happened to you two getting along lately?" Pidge asked, cocking a skeptical eyebrow.

"A fluke situation, obviously," Lance remarked. "Mistakes happen."

Pidge rolled her eyes.

Meanwhile, Keith bent hastily down and retrieved his sandwich, not looking anyone in the eye as he pressed it too severely between his fingers. "I, um, I gotta go find Shiro," he eventually muttered out. "See you guys later." Not bothering to even throw Lance a quick glance, he brushed past Hunk and Pidge, soon out the door and out of sight.

Pidge frowned and looked to Lance. "What'd you do to him?"

"What?!" Lance squawked. "Nothing!"

"Then why'd he look so upset?" Hunk asked.

And though he was filled with guilt over the question, Lance pretended like he wasn't. "I dunno. Dude's weird."

Neither of them looked convinced. Which, really, was reasonable.

"Ugh! Whatever!" he eventually settled for saying. "Are you guys making dinner? Because I'm starving."

Shaking their heads, the subject was dropped in favor of Hunk's ever-magnificent cooking skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That... is not how you should be dealing with your problems, Lance. You're gonna make poor Keith's brain explode. 
> 
> The song Keith was singing was Troublemaker by Grizfolk. And, obviously, Lance was singing That's What I Like by Bruno Mars (I've honestly been obsessed with this song for the last few days, so no surprise it showed up here XD)
> 
> Next chapter should be interesting... 
> 
> Honestly, every time I think of this chapter, I can't help thinking about what poor Keith was going through when Lance initially started singing and what not. Like, if the chapter had been from his POV... Poor baby XD Until he got on board of course! LOL!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter could be triggering. Not as bad as the other one, but some of the dialogue might be.

He _wasn't_ panicking. Keith, the red paladin and right arm of Voltron, did not "panic." He _was_ relatively distressed, however. And somewhat shaky on his feet as he made his way down the hall. He eventually had to pause to take a few steadying breaths, his hand going to the wall for support as his legs trembled.

He kind of wanted to sit down, but was too anxious to do so. His whole body was hot, and abuzz with sparking nerves. He could still feel Lance's hot breath on his face and the sensation of his hips rolling against Keith's own. The whole thing actually had Keith relatively nauseous, though not in disgust. Mostly because it was just… too overwhelming.

Pushing himself further down the hall, he kept walking, afraid that if he stood too long, he'd end up tumbling to the floor.

Lance's performance had shocked him, needless to say. It was like he'd been dreaming, because that was the only way such a fantasy would have ever come to fruition. Yet, knowing that he hadn't been—that Lance acting that way toward him had been reality—had him reeling in the same way a nightmare might have left him. His heart beat fast, sweat covered his skin, and his thoughts were running too quickly to temper.

It was only once he'd wandered the halls long enough to cool down that he was able to get his head on straight. He had to stay grounded, after all.

Otherwise, Lance was getting exactly what he wanted.

Keith wasn't stupid, after all. Especially not when it came to Lance's behavior as of late. Whether there'd been anything sincere in Lance's performance or not, it was intended to be a distraction. Just like every mask he wore and every forced joke that left his lips. Even if Lance did… want those kinds of things from Keith, he was using that fact to try and sidetrack them both from the real problem. Neither of them were in any position to be trying to introduce that kind of thing into their relationship, not after the morning they'd had and the stubborn lack of communication between them (mostly on Lance's end).

No, Keith wasn't a people person, but he'd spent enough time with Lance as of late to know this for certain. And, yes, it did… hurt. Either Lance knew Keith had feelings for him and was using that fact to his advantage (which Keith wanted to believe he'd never do, as he'd said), or he was using mutual feelings to do the same thing. Which wasn't much better.

Following their morning argument, it was too much of a one-eighty to assume Lance's reasons for acting as he had were innocently intended. He was avoiding the problems between them by trying to force Keith's attention elsewhere. And if it weren't for the fact that Keith had spent nearly the whole day pondering his situation with Lance, it might have worked.

After all, he'd much prefer to drag Lance off somewhere private and continue down whatever path Bruno Mars wanted them to go, but it just… wasn't a good idea. Which was such a foreign notion to Keith. Honestly, if it'd been any other day, he probably would have taken advantage of the opportunity to physical wreck Lance. But after that morning…

He couldn't give in to anything rash. Lance needed help, but not _that_ kind of help. And even if there were mutual feelings between them (an idea that had Keith nearly tripping to the floor again), Lance was in no position to be pursuing them. Not in the fashion he'd implemented earlier. That'd get them nowhere good. Not the act itself, but the intention behind it. They'd just end up going in circles, each pass getting messier and messier until there was no hope of recovery. Keith knew that—he'd watched his father destroy himself in much the same way, albeit with different variables.

Which meant he had to put his own wants aside and do what was _necessary_. Even if it destroyed any chance Keith had with Lance.

That was probably the most ironically painful part of this whole situation. Keith wanted Lance—wanted him more than he'd wanted anything in a long time—but his love for Lance was also bringing him down a path that could mess up everything between them. But he had to do it. _Because_ he loved Lance, he had to. That was what he'd reasoned out that afternoon. That was why he'd hatched the plan he had.

Keith didn't do plans—he much preferred to take things as they came. But Lance's situation required care and delicate handling. He'd tried to rush in and help and it'd only made things worse. No, his plan wasn't the best and he was likley still going about this the wrong way, but it was something. Even if Lance… It was the right thing to do.

But having Lance act as he had—like he wanted Keith as much as Keith wanted him—made it so much harder. His legs were jittery with arousal, but also heavy with concrete. Slow moving, because he dreaded what he was about to do. The selfish part of him tried to halt his plan, to reason that maybe—if he just kept trying—he could still help Lance on his own. But, truthfully, he didn't know what he was doing and might only make things worse than he already had. His desire to be with Lance, to continue whatever it was they'd started in the kitchen, couldn't overtake what was required. Lance meant so much to him and, even if he had to suffer as a result, he was doing the _right thing_.

If it got Lance on track to getting better, it couldn't be wrong.

Pushing back on the selfishness inside him—which was screaming at him to go find Lance and jump him silly—Keith walked through the doors that led onto the bridge. It was usually the place where Shiro could be found this time of night, sitting behind his control panel doing research. Or sometimes he just sat looking up at the stars. Generally, Keith didn't inquire into it, knowing there were certain things in Shiro's life he had no business mucking around in.

Much like Lance's.

But if there was anyone who could help Lance—who could sift through that mess and know what to do—it was Shiro.

Aware that he was still smashing his dirty sandwich between his fingers, Keith dumped it in the disposal near the door before marching himself past the other paladin chairs. Until he was close enough that Shiro would hear him when he cleared his throat.

The older man turned as soon as he heard, hastily standing a second later.

"Keith!" he said, looking both surprised and relieved. "I was looking for you earlier."

"Uh, yeah, I know," Keith replied, his heart beating even faster at what he was about to do. It was so much easier to just push his way through everything. He didn't have the time to feel uncertain or nervous.

"You said earlier you wanted to talk to me about something," Shiro continued, the heaviness in his gaze implying that he thought he knew what about, but wasn't going to say it out loud without encouragement to do so.

"Yeah, I did. I _do_." Grinding his teeth anxiously, Keith swallowed hard and forced the words out. "You know what we talked about before, about getting help from Allura and Coran?"

"Of course," Shiro replied, stepping forward and placing a reassuring hand on Keith's shoulder.

"Well, I think that something needs to be done," he explained. He opened his mouth again, to mention Lance, to explain everything, but the words wouldn't come. He felt dirty, revealing Lance's secret. He knew he had to, but it was just so… "dishonest" wasn't the word, but it felt the same. Like he was sneaking around behind his back or trespassing on private property. Which wouldn't bother him if Lance was a stranger. But he _wasn't_. Which meant there _would be_ consequences.

It was so much easier to act when he didn't think that far ahead.

"Just… could you tell Coran and Allura, so they can do whatever it is they need to do?" he asked, refusing to look Shiro in the eye. He needed to mention Lance, be more specific, but he just _couldn't_.

"Yeah, of course, whatever you need," Shiro said. "I'll tell them and we can go down to the infirmary now."

" _Now_?" Keith asked, his stomach lurching. He hadn't anticipated the ball to start rolling that quickly. "Now" was today, was before he got to spend another night with Lance or even discuss what had happened between them in the kitchen. "Now" was soon. "Now" was right in front of him with no room to dawdle.

But "now" was also swift. Not painless, but better than waiting. Keith hated waiting, usually. Though perhaps he might not have minded so much this time around…

"There's no reason to wait," Shiro reasoned. "If you need help, Keith, the sooner the better. Right?" Shiro's hold on his shoulder tightened, steadying him some.

"Yeah, you're right," he admitted, nodding. All the while, a sort of numbness began to filter through him. A defense mechanism, perhaps. An attempt to fend off the consequences of what he was doing. Yet it wouldn't work—he knew that perfectly well. "I'll, um, I'll meet you in the infirmary, okay?" he said, stepping out from under Shiro's hold. "I just… need to do something first."

Shiro appeared even more concerned, but nodded nonetheless. Supposing that was an adequate farewell, Keith pushed himself back the way he'd come. Once again making his way down the hall, he refused to let his thoughts bombard him again. He was in the middle of an action now, he was pushing forward. There was no time to think.

He didn't _want_ to think.

Instead, he returned to the kitchen, but no one was there. So he checked the dining hall.

Pidge and Hunk were there eating, but Lance was nowhere to be seen. They questioned him as he entered, but he ignored them. He left as quickly as he'd come, going to the common room before heading to the dormitory. Refusing to hesitate, he kept his "battle mode" in place and walked straight into Lance's room.

He was there, on the bed, and startled up into sitting as Keith entered. Blue eyes blinking in surprise, he gaped in the same moment, Keith caught in the awkwardness of their situation for only a few seconds before he pressed onward. He couldn't get distracted—refused. That was what Lance wanted, and what Lance wanted and what he _needed_ were totally different things, or so Keith had determined.

Taking a deep breath, Keith straightened and kept his determination in place. "Shiro wants to talk to us in the infirmary," he lied, hoping the stiffness of his tone didn't give away as much. Despite his efforts, Lance still furrowed his brows and slumped his shoulders, looking curiously suspicious.

"Talk to us? In the infirmary?" he asked. "Why?"

Keith cleared his throat. "Don't know. He said all of us. C'mon." He turned and nodded toward the door.

Lance appeared all the more skeptical, but got up a few seconds later. Satisfied that meant he was on board, Keith didn't spare him another look as he left the room and headed off down the hall. He listened to make sure Lance was following, but didn't acknowledge him otherwise.

He felt bad that Lance was suspicious. Even though he knew the circumstance was odd, he was trusting Keith anyway.

The nausea hit him all over again.

"Hey, uh, look," Lance started, once they'd been walking for some minutes. "About what happened in the kitchen earlier…"

"I don't wanna talk about it," Keith unintentionally snapped, flinching at the sound of his own voice. Lance was behind him, and so likely hadn't seen as much.

"Oh…" Lance murmured, and Keith felt an awful lot like he'd just kicked a puppy. "That's fine," Lance said a moment later. "I get it. Just… sorry."

No! No he didn't "get it!" And part of Keith wanted to whip around on him and tell him just that. But he ignored the urge, his hands balling into fists at his sides. It wouldn't matter what he said in the end. Even if he confessed right then and there that he was madly in love with Lance, it wouldn't change the fact that he was leading him into a trap.

He couldn't give in to selfish distractions. He had a goal and he had to meet it whether he liked it or not. The comfort of discussing what had happened between them was something he didn't deserve. Even if Lance were to explain that he hadn't meant any of it—the singing or the _heat_ —he didn't deserve the consolation of knowing. Even if he felt, deep down, that what he was doing was the right thing, that didn't make it honest. Nor did that mean he wasn't betraying Lance's trust.

They didn't say anything else for the remainder of their walk, the sight of the infirmary doors looming so quickly before them sending Keith's heart into his throat. Standing outside, he was actually struck frozen, his hand held above the button that would allow them entrance.

This was it.

Lance was never going to forgive him.

"Keith?" Like he'd been violently pushed forward, the sound of Lance's voice shoved his finger too harshly against the control panel. The doors didn't slide open any faster as a result, but the sound still shook inside Keith's body like a tidal wave. All out refusing to look back at Lance, he walked forcefully into the infirmary. And when the doors closed behind both of them, he knew the rest was just a downhill cascade of misery.

He'd made the jump, all that was left was the impact.

Standing near the center of the room, inside the circle of submerged pods, were Shiro, Allura, and Coran. They glanced over as the two boys entered, their predetermined looks of understanding and concern forming into surprised curiosity at the sight of Lance. Keith ignored as much, however. Without pause, he marched right into the circle of pods, before turning his severe look on Shiro.

"So why're we meeting in the infirmary?" Lance asked, his tone far more upbeat than it had been on the walk there. Keith was not surprised.

"Uh…" Shiro looked between the two boys in confusion, before settling his questioning gaze on Keith. It was then that Keith made a point of side-eying Lance, who stood beside him. He nodded as well, hoping that would be hint enough.

Thankfully, Shiro was far more gifted in the department of subtlety than Keith, and so he caught on within seconds. Looking again between the two boys, he silently "ohed" before raising a hand to stop Allura from questioning. Her mouth had been open to speak, but no words came forth upon seeing the gesture.

"Guys?" Lance asked, rocking lazily from his heels to his toes. "What's… going on?" The silence had likely stretched too long to keep him satisfied. "Where are Hunk and Pidge?"

"They're… not coming," Shiro said awkwardly, looking uneasy as he put his full attention on Lance.

"Uh, but Keith said you wanted to talk to us…" Lance replied, sounding as though he were trying to find some humor in the situation. But the heavy, weighted silence of everyone else put too much of a damper on that endeavor.

"I think what he meant to say was that we need to talk to _you_ … apparently," Shiro said, clearing up the situation for anyone else still in the midst of catching on.

Anybody but Lance, that was.

"No, I'm pretty sure his exact words were that you wanted to talk to all of us," Lance said, finally beginning to sound uncomfortable. "Keith?"

Lance was looking at him, wanting reassurance, but Keith couldn't give it. Instead, he turned his head to the side, refusing to even acknowledge that Lance had addressed him. It was cold, and unsupportive, and cowardly, but he couldn't bring himself to look Lance in the eyes.

"Okay, seriously, what's going on?" Lance asked a few seconds later, sounding angry this time. But also… scared. "Because if you don't have anything to talk to _all_ of us about, being here is a pretty big waste of time, isn't it?"

"Lance, just… don't get upset," Shiro said calmly.

"I'm not upset," Lance said defensively, his tone clearly full of hypocrisy. "I just want to know what's going on. Keith dragged me all the way here and now I want to know why."

"Lance," Shiro said again. "We're just trying to help you."

Lance released a strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. "Help me?" he asked, voice rising an octave. "I don't need help with anything."

"I doubt Keith would have gone to the trouble of getting us all together if that were the case," Allura offered, her hands clasped securely in front of her and sympathy painting her expression.

There was no way Lance hadn't figured it out by then.

"Well, obviously he fucked up, because I don't need help," Lance said stubbornly. "If anyone needs help, he does. _I'm_ fine."

"C'mon, Lance," Shiro tried to encourage. "It's alright."

Lance scoffed. "Yeah, whatever. Look, I don't know if this is supposed to be some kind of fucked up intervention or something, but I don't need it. So I'm just gonna go back to my room, okay?"

Which was something Keith couldn't let him do.

Finally glancing over, Keith reached out and grabbed Lance's wrist before he could turn to walk away. Aside from halting any attempts to run, it also resulted in Lance turning almost aggressively on him, before he violently yanked his arm free of Keith's hold.

" _Don't touch me_ ," he snarled, the pure ferocity in his voice causing Keith to take a startled step back.

"Don't," Shiro cut in swiftly, going so far as to take Lance by the shoulder. Which had those blue eyes snapping to him instead. "He only did what he thought was necessary."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Lance hissed, trying to move out from under Shiro's hold. But the older man held him in place—perks of a robotic arm, probably.

"Maybe not," Shiro agreed. "But I don't think that's the point." Taking a heaving breath, he stepped closer and placed his free hand on Lance's other shoulder. "C'mon, Lance," he murmured. "We've all seen your scars. If you're having trouble, we need to know."

Words that Keith understood from experience would push Lance right over the edge. He half expected some kind of violent response—that maybe Lance would lash out. What they got instead was a painful widening of those blue eyes, accompanied by the wordless opening and closing of Lance's mouth as he stared, helplessly, up at Shiro.

"It's okay," Shiro continued a second later. "I'm not asking for details. I know perfectly well how hard it is to talk about these kinds of things. But if you're depressed, or suicidal, or anything similar, you need to say something. No one here is going to judge you—we just want to help."

Right to the point. Keith watched the exchange nervously, knowing that it couldn't possibly go that smoothly. There was no way, not after how hard Lance had fought him at every turn. But he wouldn't get to see Lance's initial reaction, because before he could get himself together enough to say something, the doors to the infirmary opened, causing everyone in the room to jump and look that way.

Hunk stood there, his large form looming only because of how tense everyone else was by comparison.

"Hey, I saw Keith and Lance heading this way and…" Hunk stepped in, looking between them all quickly. Before growing obviously concerned. "And… something is happening right now." Hunk was perceptive, after all, especially when it came to Lance. Lance, who still stood with Shiro's hands on his shoulders and appeared as though he'd seen a ghost.

Maybe he had.

"Nothing is happening," Lance said after a few heavy beats of silence. Forcefully, he reached up and removed Shiro's hold. "Everything is _fine_. C'mon, Hunk," he'd turned to walk out, "let's go… play with your computer or something."

"Lance," Shiro said simply.

Keith, meanwhile, stepped forward, reaching out to stop Lance if he could. But then the venom it his voice when he'd told Keith not to touch him stung anew and he found himself cemented to floor.

Lance couldn't leave. He needed _help_.

"Uh, okay… wait…" Hunk was looking between Lance and Shiro. Lance, who was still hunkering toward him and Shiro, who was sighing with concern. "No, something is going on right now. What's happening."

"Nothing is happening," Lance growled.

"Uh, no, I think-"

"Nothing is happening, Hunk, okay?!" Lance snapped harshly. "So can we go please?!" He gestured harshly to the door, before stepping to the side as though to go around Hunk to get through. But he didn't get far.

"Hold on," Hunk said, reaching out and grabbing Lance by the upper arm, holding him in place. His expression had gone from concerned to confused and settled on a sort of stern resolve. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, Hunk," Lance said through his teeth, though it was clear by the tremble in his posture and his unsteady breathing that he was upset. "Let's _go_."

Slowly, Hunk looked again to Shiro, then to Allura and Coran, and lastly to Keith. Quite as though he were trying to take in every angle of the mysterious situation. If Keith appeared desperate when his gaze met Hunk's, he hadn't intended to.

"No…" Hunk eventually said, sounding thoughtfully certain. "No, Lance, I think… I think that, at this point, you need to _stay_."

Keith felt relief sweep through him, leaving him weak in the knees.

Meanwhile, Lance had turned to Hunk with that look of shocked betrayal on his face, much the same as he'd looked at Keith only moments before. But Hunk didn't shy away at the sight as Keith had. Instead, he just stood his ground and raised a knowing eyebrow.

"It's alright, man," he said quietly. "Shiro's got depression too. He can help you."

Shiro appeared moderately surprised at Hunk's knowledge, but didn't comment.

"Hunk…" Lance murmured brokenly.

"And I'm here with you too," he continued. "Let's deal with this, okay?" Hunk nodded back toward the group. "They know now, so you don't have to keep hiding it."

And so there he stood, trembling in Hunk's supportive hold and surrounded in people that wanted to help, but scared. Terrified, really. He shook like a leaf, his gaze flicking between them all like an animal in cage that was being stared in on by passerbys. But he didn't have to be in a cage. Really, he'd put himself there. None of them wanted to hurt him, or judge him, and none of them thought he was inferior or weak because of his condition. But that was the trappings of his situation—it left him exposed no matter how much he fought it or how many shields he tried to put up. Eventually, those barriers would fail.

Taking a deep breath, Shiro headed forward and placed his hand on Lance's shoulder again. "Let's just talk about it, alright?" he said gently, his voice flicking a switch that had Lance's lips and chin trembling, his lashes fluttering rapidly. "Me and you, okay? And Hunk too, if you want."

But Lance was already shaking his head.

"Just me and you, then," Shiro continued. "One step at a time."

Yet, he just kept shaking his head.

"We've got a lot in common, Lance," Shiro continued. "And you're my friend. We all care about you. There's no shame in getting help if you need it. I did. I even talk to Allura a lot more about my issues than I'm sure she really wants to hear." A comment that pulled a soft smile to Allura's lips. "You're not burdening anyone by trying to get well. _Everyone_ on this ship wants you healthy.

"C'mon, just talk to me," he said again. "Just for a little while."

Reaching up, Lance wiped at his eyes with the palms of his hands, saying nothing. He didn't nod or even look at Shiro, but when their leader turned him toward the door—not to escape, but to submit—Lance didn't pull away. Instead, he turned and walked, disappearing into the hall with Shiro's arm wrapped protectively around his shoulders.

When the doors slid closed behind them, Keith felt so lightheaded that he nearly collapsed.

"Well…" Allura said after a few moments. "That went differently than I anticipated."

"Uh, well, what _were_ you anticipating?" Hunk asked, the underlying anger in his tone drawing all eyes his way. "You can't just surround someone like that. He's got depression, not doing something illegal."

"That… was not our intention," Coran made perfectly clear.

"It's my fault," Keith admitted, staring at the floor as he did. "I didn't know what else to do."

"What do you mean?" Hunk asked, tone guarded. Which was something no one usually expected from the larger man. He really _was_ angry.

"He wouldn't… He wouldn't _listen_ to me," Keith admitted. "He's been really fucked up for a while and I tried to tell him that Shiro and you guys could help, but he didn't let me and-" He threw his arms in the air. "And so I tricked him into coming here by telling Shiro it was me and it wasn't the right thing to do and I know that now! And I shouldn't have done it, okay?!" He'd tried to figure out a plan that would work, but nothing had gone right all day and he hadn't been able to find the right words and now everything sucked!

"You _tricked_ him?" Hunk asked.

"He wouldn't have come if I'd told him the truth!" Keith tried to explain.

"Okay, I get that, but this wasn't the best course of action either," Hunk explained, far too calmly if Keith were being honest. How could he be so calm? Keith wasn't calm! He was upset and panicking and guilty and fucking _confused_!

"I fucked up, I get it," he growled out.

"No, you don't," Hunk said, walking further into the room. His tone remained firm, and _demanding_ to be heard. "Look, I get that you realize you screwed up, but that doesn't mean you get to just shut down and not learn from it. I know Lance would love it if he could just ignore how messed up he is, but he can't. So do _him_ the favor of listening so that you don't ever do something like this again."

Blinking in shocked surprise, Keith could do nothing. He hadn't heard Hunk talk so fiercely or passionately since Shay had been involved.

"Lance has depression, okay? He doesn't want to have depression and he certainly doesn't want to be dragged into a group of people to have that exposed in, like, the worst way possible. Why didn't you just tell Shiro and let him approach Lance privately?"

"Lance didn't want me to tell anyone!"

"Because this is better?" Hunk asked. "Trapping him into revealing it himself just so you don't have to feel responsible for doing it?"

"That's not what I was trying to do!"

"It doesn't matter what you were trying to do," Hunk continued. "You did it! _Why_ didn't you just tell Shiro privately?"

"I just said-"

" _Why_?!"

Because _he_ hadn't wanted to go against what _Lance_ wanted by violating his trust. Because it'd seemed more ethical through _his_ eyes to let Shiro somehow figure it out on his own, instead of Keith taking the whole burden on his shoulders. The only consequences he'd considered were those that would affect him. How Lance would never forgive him or talk to him ever again. How he'd be heartbroken.

He hadn't considered how traumatizing it'd be for Lance. All he'd _done_ was think of Lance, and yet somehow not thought of him at all.

"I'm sorry…" he murmured.

"I'm not the one you have to apologize to," Hunk replied. "You should have told Shiro privately. Or, better yet, talked to me. I've known Lance for years."

A suggestion that, though logical, burned a bitter coal in the base of Keith's stomach—despite his guilt and the horror at what he'd just brought on Lance.

"Right," he replied flatly, finally looking up to meet Hunk's gaze. "Because you've made that so easy for me."

A comment that had Hunk furrowing his eyebrows curiously. "No offense, Keith, but I don't think this is about you."

"No, it's not. It's about Lance. Just like it always is with you. It's always Lance, Pidge, and Hunk. The dynamic trio. It doesn't matter what nasty things Lance says to me, you've _always_ got his back. And, yet, somehow you think that I would even consider going to talk to you about him. Like I had any _right_ to talk to you about him when it comes to _anything_.

"Yeah, I feel really bad about this," he said, his own chin trembling as he lost what little control he had over his own emotions. "I fucked up majorly, I see that now, and I take responsibility for that. But the only reason I did what I did is because I didn't think I had any other choice. Lance is sick and I knew I had to do something, but he didn't want me to."

"That doesn't mean you-"

"And _maybe_ ," he said, voice a bit louder, "if I'd felt okay talking to you, I would have. But I don't. Because for however nice you are to everyone, when Lance has something mean to say about me, you don't object. You take his side and act like everything he does is perfectly okay even though it's _not_. I'm not good at talking to people, okay?! I don't know how to connect with people and I want to _so badly_ , but you and Lance and Pidge have your stupid little group that I'm not allowed to be in!" They all worked together, sure, but it wasn't the same. Not even close. "So yeah, when Lance actually started treating me like a _human being_ instead of some made-up rival that he couldn't stand, I was afraid of what would happen if I screwed it up. And I didn't think about talking to you because, despite being such 'great friends' with Lance, you hardly say anything at all to me!

"I was _trying_ to do what Lance wanted me to! I was _trying_ to keep his secret even though I _knew_ he needed help! And yeah, maybe I should have known that if anyone would understand how to deal with him, it'd be you! But I _liked_ that Lance trusted me and that, for once, I wasn't being kept on the outside of _everything_! And if I'd talked to you, that meant sharing the _one good thing_ that had happened to me with _any_ of you! It's not an excuse for what I did and I _know_ that—I should have talked to Shiro, you're right—but don't act like it's some easy thing to just walk up and tell _you_!"

He was shaking where he stood, Allura, Coran, and Hunk all gaping as a result of his outburst. There were tears streaming down his cheeks as well, but he didn't bother wiping them away.

"But now it doesn't even matter," he continued bitterly. "I tried to help in a way that would make it so maybe Lance didn't despise me as much as he could, but it _was_ selfish and the only person I was really thinking about was myself. So now Lance can go back to hating me all over again, probably worse than before, and everything will be back to normal."

He tried to look Hunk in the eyes, as if that would somehow hammer whatever point he'd made in more thoroughly. But the truth was that he had no point. He felt like he had nothing, which was pretty typical, actually. As usual, he was alone in the end. He'd fucked up beyond repair and now everyone had the excuse they needed to keep alienating him. Which was fine. He was used to it and, in this case, it really proved why he deserved it.

Maybe there was a reason he'd had such trouble forming bonds with people. Maybe he just wasn't suited for it.

Apparently all he did was mess things up when he tried.

Pulling his gaze from Hunk's, he'd intended to leave as quickly as possible. Before anyone else could point out the flaws in what he'd said (because he knew, somehow, that he was still wrong no matter how he "felt." Years getting stared at by his peers for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time had taught him as much). But as he turned toward the door, he was struck frozen by the additional audience.

He hadn't heard Shiro and Lance come back in. How long had they been standing there?

Not that it mattered.

If Shiro wanted to say something, he didn't. Which was probably best. Keith wasn't sure he could stand to be much longer in a room with Lance looking at him like that. Still upset, still a mess, still Keith's fault. He locked eyes with Lance for only a second, but didn't dare hold the look long enough to make anything of it. He didn't need to see it for himself to know how Lance felt about him.

Pushing his feet into motion, he kept a wide berth with Lance as he passed, finding no relief when he was out in the hall and away from it all. There was none to be found in his room either, or curled up in his bed.

He was alone, like always, and he had no one to blame but himself.

There wasn't even any solace in sleep, seeing as he couldn't find any. Which meant he was awake when, some hours later, Shiro walked in without even knocking. Covered in his blanket, he curled up even tighter. As if he'd actually be able to hide.

"Keith," Shiro said above him.

"Please don't lecture me," he said quietly, voice like sandpaper. "I know I screwed up, okay?"

Shiro sighed. "I'm not here to lecture you," he admitted, before sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I think Hunk covered that well enough. He wasn't wrong—you did put all of us in kind of a bad position. Especially Lance."

"I thought you weren't going to lecture me," he muttered.

"I'm not, I just want you to be aware of the situation." Because Shiro knew perfectly well that he wasn't always.

"I'm perfectly aware at this point." He'd wanted to help Lance and he'd only made it worse. So lesson number one learned—don't get involved in things when people asked him not to. Probably a pretty basic lesson, but clearly one he hadn't learned.

"It could have been worse," Shiro continued. The only reason it hadn't been was because—between Shiro and Hunk—they'd managed to salvage the situation. "And no one can deny that your heart was in the right place. Not even Lance."

Keith wasn't so sure of that. Which was a thought that had his grief assaulting him all over again. He tried to hide it beneath the blanket, but he was sure is voice gave it away away.

"He's never going to forgive me," he whispered.

Shiro didn't respond right away. Instead, he reached out and laid a gentle hand on Keith's head, despite it being covered. "That's not true," he assured.

"It is," Keith replied, his breath catching. "We were finally friends and now he _hates_ me."

"He doesn't hate you," Shiro said. "I think he's hurt, but he doesn't hate you."

"He does," Keith insisted. "He h-hates me now more than ever. And I…" Closing his eyes, the words tore through him like a blade erupting from his throat. "And I _love_ him."

There was pause, one that was eventually accented by a deep breath from Shiro. "Oh, Keith," he murmured, once again stroking Keith's hair through the blanket. "It'll be alright, you'll see. Just… give him some time. I think he's just as overwhelmed as you are." If not more so. "Maybe you two just need a bit of space."

Which was something Keith knew he couldn't handle. But maybe… maybe he'd been sleeping with Lance long enough that he could make it through one night, and then another, and… Yet, somehow, he wasn't holding his breath.

But he didn't tell Shiro that. He'd caused enough trouble, clearly.

"He'll forgive you," Shiro continued. "Just give it some time, you'll see."

Yet, Keith couldn't find it in himself to believe that at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws hands up in the air* Everyone is wrong! Pidge is the only one that is good! 
> 
> So don't expect an update this fast usually. I'm very sick and have nothing else to do but sit at my desk and write. 
> 
> I'll be interested to hear what y'all think of this chapter, though ;D But, like, I feel like a good chunk of the beginning of this chapter is us watching Keith be so certain of himself while we all scream "no, stoooooop!"


	12. Chapter 12

It was like the night his mom found him. The stares, the attention. Having to confess all over again that, yes, he had a problem. There was no hiding it now, no keeping it behind closed doors. Like back then, he'd gone years keeping it bottled up. And he'd done so well in keeping it to himself this time too.

But now none of that mattered. Everyone _knew_. The one thing he didn't want _anyone_ to know and it'd just been blown wide open. He couldn't even lie his way out of it, not at that point. Not after breaking down in front of Hunk and Shiro. He'd as good as confessed—like a pathological liar caught committing the act, his cover was blown.

It was humiliating, and he was so ashamed. Like he'd been ashamed when his mother had walked in and found him lying on the bathroom floor, blood streaming from his wrists. There wasn't any blood this time, but he could still _feel_ it. How cold tile had numbed his body and how each drop of blood that had left his veins had acted like a tether, strapping him to the floor and leaving him less able to get up with each second that had passed.

A kind of fading numbness, his heartbeat heavy and the lights dimming.

Only this time his heart beat fast, and the chill wasn't from the tile, but from the cold air of the castle. It was Shiro's arm—wrapped around his shoulders—that was suffocating the life out of him, not his mother's screams or the blinding flash of sirens.

He hadn't wanted them to know. He hadn't wanted to be found out. All he did was cause problems. Like his mother's anger, and his father's despair, and his siblings' fear. All his fault. Now none of them would trust him. Would he be watched constantly? Would they take away his lion? Would they find a different blue paladin?

He knew he wasn't worthy, but he didn't want to lose Blue either. Yet, he was bringing the team down. And now they knew why.

He hadn't wanted them to know. He hadn't wanted _anyone_ to know.

He hadn't wanted to _be like this_ in the first place!

"Lance." Shiro's voice raked against his ears like nails on a chalkboard, causing him to flinch violently away. Which, in turn, had Shiro tightening his hold around his shoulders. "Lance, it's okay. Just take a deep breath."

But he _couldn't_! They were gonna take Blue away! He was going to be kicked out of Voltron! Because he was too _weak_! Because he'd never deserved to be there in the first place!

"Lance, you need to focus on breathing, alright?" Shiro said calmly. "I know this is overwhelming, but no one is angry."

"D-Don't do it, please," he begged through his tears, breath catching so severely that he began coughing uncontrollably. "Don't t-take Blue away from me!"

"No one is taking Blue away from you, Lance," Shiro said firmly, turning Lance so they were facing one another. " _You_ are the Blue paladin and no one is going to take that away from you."

"I-I kn-know there are better p-p-people who could d-do it, but I'll d-do better. I won't- I won't-"

"Lance, it's _okay_ ," Shiro murmured, pulling him in abruptly and wrapping him in a tight hug. "You're the best blue paladin we could have asked for. No one is taking Blue away from you. And trust me when I say that nobody _wants_ to."

"I'm _sorry_ ," Lance cried, his voice barely able to scratch out the words. He didn't have it in him to push Shiro away, to stand on his own. Though he didn't want to, he remained trembling inside Shiro's hold. And like always—though he was scared and mortified—the energy just drained out of him. What little he'd had in the first place. Until he was a crying mess in Shiro's arms, words too difficult to pull to the surface.

"I think we need to go back and have you sit down for a while," Shiro said after a few moments, his voice far too soft in Lance's ear. "Let you calm down."

But Lance didn't have a say, really. He couldn't find his voice. His whole body wanted to just slip to the floor and disappear. Let alone put forth the effort to talk, or even think. Because when he got to thinking, all he could entertain was how much of a screw up he was and how everyone really was going to know that now.

They'd realize, like he did, that maybe the team would be better off if he'd died instead of coming back.

"C'mon," Shiro said gently, as though encouraging him onward. But Lance was too shocked and disoriented to register that they were walking. It was only the sound of Keith's— _Keith's_ —wasted, desperate voice that informed him they'd made their way back to the infirmary. Looking up, his blurred vision zeroed in on that thin, trembling figure in red.

"-I fucked up majorly, I see that now, and I take responsibility for that. But the only reason I did what I did is because I didn't think I had any other choice. Lance is sick and I knew I had to do something, but he didn't want me to."

They were talking about him? Of course they were. What else would they be talking about after all this bullshit?

"That doesn't mean you-" But Hunk was cut off.

"And _maybe_ ," Keith continued, practically shouting, "if I'd felt okay talking to you, I would have. But I don't. Because for however nice you are to everyone, when Lance has something mean to say about me, you don't object. You take his side and act like everything he does is perfectly okay even though it's _not_."

Nothing he did was ever right or okay—Keith was right about that.

"I'm not good at talking to people, okay?! I don't know how to connect with people and I want to _so badly_ , but you and Lance and Pidge have your stupid little group that I'm not allowed to be in! So yeah, when Lance actually started treating me like a _human being_ instead of some made-up rival that he couldn't stand, I was afraid of what would happen if I screwed it up. And I didn't think about talking to you because, despite being such 'great friends' with Lance, you hardly say anything at all to me!

"I was _trying_ to do what Lance wanted me to! I was _trying_ to keep his secret even though I _knew_ he needed help! And yeah, maybe I should have known that if anyone would understand how to deal with him, it'd be you!"

How to deal with him? The best option was that no one "dealt" with him. Why didn't Keith get that?! And now everyone _knew_ even though Lance had made it clear he didn't want that! But he should have known Keith wouldn't listen. Always going his own way, being "heroic," doing whatever he wanted—like he'd care at all about what Lance actually wanted.

Lance, who was nothing compared to _Keith_! Who was useless and untalented and caused nothing but trouble.

"But I _liked_ that Lance trusted me and that, for once, I wasn't being kept on the outside of _everything_! And if I'd talked to you, that meant sharing the _one good thing_ that had happened to me with _any_ of you! It's not an excuse for what I did and I _know_ that—I should have talked to Shiro, you're right—but don't act like it's some easy thing to just walk up and tell _you_!"

One good thing? There'd never been anything good about what they'd been doing. Keith was dependent on Lance because of his own stupid death. Only for Lance to turn around and freak out on him at every turn. What good did Keith see in that? Maybe it'd brought them closer together for a little while, but what was that to the stress and burden Lance was as a result? Keith would have been better off knowing nothing, just like everyone else.

Friendship, nights spent together, stupid songs and secret conversations—what did any of it matter when Lance was so incredibly _useless_ to _everyone_?

"But now it doesn't even matter," Keith continued, his voice so broken that Lance felt his own heart surge as a result. That was his fault too, wasn't it? "I tried to help in a way that would make it so maybe Lance didn't despise me as much as he could, but it _was_ selfish and the only person I was really thinking about was myself. So now Lance can go back to hating me all over again, probably worse than before, and everything will be back to normal."

Except that Lance had _never_ hated him. It'd been the exact opposite the whole time, but he was such an absolute asshole that, instead of trying to be the bigger, better person, he'd released his petty frustrations on Keith over and over and over again. And then he'd dropped his problems on him like a bag of bricks at the first opportunity. Any trust between them hadn't been deserved.

Really, Lance didn't blame Keith for outing him as he had, even if it did… hurt. Horribly. Who was he to blame him? Keith didn't want his problems, didn't need them. And Lance hadn't been able to keep them at bay. It was only reasonable that Keith would eventually shove him off on someone else. Maybe he did feel betrayed, but in the same token, what point was there in feeling that way when he deserved it?

There was a voice in the back of his thoughts that kept repeating, "How could he? How could he have _done this_?" But for every selfish demand to know, his own self-loathing blanketed him tenfold.

What did it matter if Keith told the whole _universe_? It didn't. Because in the grand scheme of things, he—Lance—didn't matter.

Insignificant and pathetic.

Yet, as Keith turned toward him—pausing upon seeing him there—he felt his whole body swell with the desire not to be. It was Keith's fault he was in this position. He'd told. He'd dragged him here and tricked him. He'd _manipulated_ him. But he didn't care, really. He didn't care about anything except, in those fleeting moments, the fact that Keith looked at him and then looked away just as quickly.

He walked out. Didn't even turn back. And Lance felt his whole chest crack with agony.

How he ended up back in the middle of the room, in a chair, with everyone talking around him, he couldn't remember. He was so upset and angry with Keith, but mostly he still wanted him _there_. It was his own fault Keith had acted as he had, after all. It'd been too much for him, Lance's problems. And now he was gone and probably didn't want anything to do with him anymore. The only reason he'd come to him in the first place was because he'd had to. Even if he still did require Lance's presence, that didn't change the motivation.

Just like when they'd gone to the Garrison, just like when they'd first found Voltron, Keith thought he was a joke and a waste of space.

That was the only realistic thing he could think, right?

Because it was _true_.

"Lance." Allura was crouched down in front of him. She'd set a hand on his knee, drawing his tired gaze her way. "Is it okay if Coran and I do some scans? That way we can configure the best dosage to start out your medication. If you want it, that is."

Would this be the point when he'd normally crack some kind of flirtatious joke? Probably about wanting scans of Allura too or something equally inappropriate. To get a few laughs, a few eye rolls. He liked being funny and keeping the mood light.

But as of then, he couldn't find any justification to care.

"Whatever," he muttered, shrugging and turning away. If Allura threw Shiro a concerned, helpless look, he missed it. If Hunk placed a heavy, concerned hand on his shoulder, he didn't feel it.

They put him in the pod and did whatever it was they needed to. He just leaned heavily against the glass, too drained to put on a mask or a show.

It was only once he was out again and back in the chair, with Shiro sitting beside him, that he tuned back in. Allura and Coran were gone. Probably to the lab. And Hunk was over by the pod, staring at it thoughtfully—quite as though he hadn't moved once Lance had left it.

"How are you doing, Lance?" Shiro asked quietly, his eyebrows pulling together in concern.

"Just peachy," Lance replied bitterly, having to clear his throat a second later. Talking was risky—it felt like he was just barely staying afloat and anything might drop him over the edge.

Shiro released a short breath. "I bet." He then leaned back and sighed. "I'm really sorry about this. We didn't… mean to do this to you."

Lance shrugged.

"Allura and Coran can make up a special medication catered exactly to you," Shiro started then, sounding more stern and official. Like a mission briefing. "You have to build up a tolerance, but it should help regulate your depression. _If_ you want it."

"Do I really have a choice?" Lance asked flatly.

"Of course you do," Shiro said quietly. "It's your body and, in the end, it's up to you what you want to do with it. Naturally, we want you to try anything that will get you well, but… if you don't want to be, then… no one can make that decision other than you. But you're also a part of this team—a very, very _important_ part of this team—and if you don't want to get better, I do want to know why.

"But no one can make you help yourself, Lance. Only you can do that."

"What's the point?" Lance found his voice asking, the words quite out of his control. Like everything. The floodgate was open, the dam broken. It flowed out of him, his voice a force separated from his body that spilled all his secrets even as his insides screamed desperately to _stop_. To be _silent_. "Even if I'm on medication, it doesn't change the fact that I'm the worst one on the team. I can't fly as well as you or Keith, I'm not a genius like Pidge, I can't fight like you, I can't fix anything. I'm not _good_ for _anything_."

"Lance… none of that is true," Shiro replied, his words reminding Lance sourly of the same thing Keith had once said to him. "You're an excellent pilot. You've always been an excellent pilot. Even back at the Garrison, you were far above average. Just because Iverson was an asshole that liked to bully you doesn't mean your skills weren't apparent to others."

Confused, and somewhat surprised, Lance finally looked his way. It was a small blossom of interest, likely short-lived, but it bloomed nonetheless. "You knew who I was back at the Garrison?"

Shiro almost laughed. "Of course I did. You were in Keith's graduating class and failed the simulator nearly as many times as I did. Word got around."

"You failed the simulator?"

"Yeah. It's not an accurate representation of actual flight experience and doesn't maneuver like a real ship would. It's designed to keep pilots flying safe, not a measure of skill."

That's what Lance always told Hunk whenever he messed up their progress reports. "Keith never failed the simulator."

"Yes, well, Keith has his own reasons for being the way he is," Shiro shrugged. "Which is not a reflection on you."

"He's better than me at everything…" Combat, flying, getting things done.

Reaching out, Shiro laid a hand on his shoulder. "He's really not. Why would you think that?"

"Because our entire career at the Garrison, Lance was always second best to him," Hunk supplied, finally approaching the pair. "Written pilot's tests, evaluations, Keith was always first and Lance was always second."

Except for the simulator. Keith always got away with the best scores and Lance always ended up with the worst because he was constantly failing. It didn't matter how well he'd done at the written portions, if you couldn't pass the simulation test, you couldn't be a fighter. It was why he'd ended up as a cargo pilot—because he hadn't been disciplined enough and been labeled a dangerous showoff.

"Iverson loved Keith," Hunk continued. "And hated Lance because he was constantly fighting his favoritism. Keith, Takashi Shiro's protégé that could do no wrong."

Shiro laughed then. "Funny, how that happens." He shook his head. "Iverson hated me all through school, but as soon as I got out on the field, he couldn't keep insisting I wasn't skilled enough. Guess he changed his tune when I graduated."

"Once the Kerberos mission went missing though," Hunk pointed out, "all he had to say about you were bad things."

Shiro rolled his eyes. "Naturally."

"That's when he started complaining about Keith all the time too," Hunk went on. "Always telling Lance 'you keep that up and you'll end up just like that useless dropout.' While at the same time always going on and on about how Lance owed it to Keith that he was bumped to fighter class to begin with."

"He really never should have been an instructor," Shiro said, which earned him a nod of agreement from Hunk before he put his attention back on Lance. "That's why you were always so mean to Keith, isn't it?"

Wow, just lay it right out there. Yes, Lance had been an asshole to Keith. Well, at least he now knew everyone else agreed. Super. Great. _Hooray_.

Chin trembling again, he couldn't bring himself to look Shiro in the eyes.

"I'm not angry, Lance," Shiro added. "I'm just trying to understand. I guarantee that whatever account you have of Keith's time at the Garrison, it's completely different from his own.

"But, in the end, none of that matters. You and Keith, or you and Pidge, or you and _I_ , you can't measure yourself that way. None of us are competing for Best Paladin and all of us bring something totally different and necessary to this team. You are no exception to that. We all have to pull our weight and if you weren't, Voltron would suffer for it. But we're not."

"I was out for a whole month, Shiro," Lance remarked. "And I've been in the healing pod more than anyone."

"And why is that?" Shiro asked. "Is it because you're a bad paladin? Or because you're always the first one to take a hit for someone else? You saved Keith's life, Lance. You threw yourself at Coran to save _his_ life when that bomb went off. And Allura told me how upset you were when the red lion was active while we were in the Marmora Base. I worry about you not because I don't think you're capable. I worry because I know that if any of us are in danger, you'll always take that hit if you can.

"I'm not saying I _agree_ with that mentality," he continued, "but I do know that Coran might not be here if it weren't for you. And I _know_ Keith wouldn't be. You have more worth to this team than you realize. You're right—you were out for a whole month. And everyone was completely _miserable_ the whole time. I don't think any of us laughed at all. And let me tell you, when you're away from home and stuck in a war that seems like it's never going to end, or be possible to win, those small moments when you can find a bit of humor in something or pretend like everything is normal—that is _invaluable_."

"Are you saying you actually approve of my antics?"

"I'm saying you have a way with words at the right time, _sometimes_ ," he said carefully. "You could do to flirt with Allura a little less."

Lance, somehow, managed a small smile. "You want me to flirt with you instead?"

A question that Shiro obviously had no idea how to respond to.

"I'm just putting it on the table, Sugar Daddy."

Shiro raised single, sternly pointed finger. "Don't ever call me that again," he said sternly.

Hunk chuckled beside them.

Lance wanted to laugh, he even tried, but the effort dwindled before it could reach fruition.

"The main thing here," Shiro continued, "is that you are not a burden on this team. Even with depression, even in the healing pod, you're irreplaceable.

"Which is why we _all_ want you healthy. I know that dealing with depression is hard, and the medication Allura and Coran put together isn't going to solve everything. Nothing will. But that doesn't mean things can't be better than they are now. In the end though, _you_ are the only one that has the power to make that happen. It doesn't matter how much we want to help you if you don't want to help yourself. And I know that's cliché, but it's true.

"No, depression isn't easy. And you're not weak for having it or for giving in to it. Sometimes… it just really fucking sucks." Swallowing hard, Lance tried to hold himself together through Shiro's words. "Because you have this disease and there's no way to get rid of it or fix it and it just makes the whole universe seem… pointless. Which makes trying to get better even harder. Because, really, why bother, right?"

Hands shaking, Lance folded them in his lap and grit his teeth.

"But there are people here who love you, and a plethora of reasons why bothering with it _is_ worth the trouble. Keeping that in perspective seems difficult sometimes, and on the worst days—during the worst weeks, months—it's impossible. But when we can finally find those good days, and find those small moments that stick out against all the… shit, that's what makes the fight worth it.

"Just know that, even when you're feeling like nothing you do matters and getting up in the morning is the hardest thing you'll ever have to do, there are people that need you. _We_ need you, Lance. You don't have to stand against this on your own and there's no reason to think that leaning on others is wrong. Use us an excuse, but don't shut yourself away.

"You don't have to love yourself all the time, every day, in order for others to love you as well. Even if you see no value in yourself, others do, and it's okay to depend on that."

It was weird, the contradiction. Lance didn't want to believe Shiro—that others wanted and needed him—but in the same stroke, he also really, really needed it to be true.

"For example," Shiro murmured, "Keith messed up today and made some very poor decisions, but the only reason he did is because he cares about you. If someone didn't care, they wouldn't even bother trying."

Keith _had_ tried numerous times, hadn't he? And every time Lance had pushed him away. Just like he could push Shiro away then, if he wanted to. Then the pattern could just keep repeating itself over and over again until they really did kick him out or take his lion away.

But they weren't—that's what Shiro had said. They wanted him to get better, because they loved him. And though he was scared, his mother had once said the same thing. He'd gotten help back then, once the horror show had closed and he'd been exposed completely. One would think he'd have learned the first time, but it wasn't that simple. He was ashamed of what he'd tried to do back then and the pain he'd put his family through. He hadn't wanted to put his team through the same turmoil.

Yet here they sat. Everything was messed up anyway. All because of him. And if he kept doing what he was doing, nothing would change. Or maybe things would even keep going downhill.

He hadn't wanted to get help because he hadn't wanted everyone else to know. Now, however, they did—it was out there—and it'd caused just as much trouble as he'd known it would. But he'd been on medication before. He knew the drill. And if everyone knew anyway, then didn't he owe it to them to try and get better?

He didn't want to hold any of them back, but if this _thing_ inside him kept doing the same to him, then he would. And ignoring it—that hadn't prevented anything. In the end, he'd ended up in the exact place he hadn't wanted to be.

Just like when he'd ignored it the first time.

He had a choice, then. Either try or don't. He didn't want to be a burden; he didn't want to lose his lion. And, yes, he _did_ want to be better.

But ending his own life hadn't been the solution years ago and it wasn't now. Which meant he had only one other _acceptable_ option. He knew he had a problem, so, if he could, he had to try and do something about it. Ignoring it clearly hadn't solved or prevented anything.

"Okay…" he finally muttered, the word like vomit as he let it go. "You're right, I… I want help. I _need_ help." Admitting it, even if they'd all known it, left him with tears in his eyes again. He wiped at them as Shiro once more laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Hunk did the same on the other side, Lance feeling smaller as a result.

They were quiet for some minutes following, which he was thankful for. He was exhausted and didn't want to talk anymore. He wanted to go back to his room and just… shut everything out, but he forced himself to wait for Allura and Coran. Having Shiro and Hunk there helped too. Like they could somehow keep him from floating off in the wrong direction.

Like his mom had back home.

The returned eventually, of course. Allura with a reassuring smile and Coran with a very large syringe.

"Good news!" he announced boisterously, smiling beneath his mustache. "We have the first dose of stuff to get you started. Bad news is that your brain is really out of wack-"

"Coran!" Allura hissed.

Lance didn't care.

"I mean, not that I have an accurate way to measure human brain out-of-wack-ness," Coran continued. "All we've really got for comparison is you lovely subjects, which is a questionable pool, all things considered. But working with Shiro here has given us an idea of what we need. Still," he held up a knowing finger as he looked directly at Lance, "it's going to be vital that, throughout this process, you talk to us about it. We can't adjust your medication based solely on your body scans because, well, that's simply not enough."

"I know it's difficult, but to get you as healthy as possible, you're going to have to communicate to us how your feeling throughout," Allura simplified.

"It's hard at first," Shiro explained. "But you'll get used to it. Kind of like therapy."

Lance had talked to a therapist after he'd tried to kill himself. It'd sucked, for lack of a better descriptor.

"Whatever…" he begrudgingly agreed.

"Super!" Coran said, before he came forward and crouched down in front of him. "This is only a small dose of what you need," he explained as he held up the syringe. "But we don't want to rush you into it—have to build up your tolerance. So that'll take about four weeks. We'll up the dose every week and then, once you're at about what we're hoping is the right dosage, we'll make more intricate adjustments based on how you're feeling and what your body scans tell us. Easy, right?"

If only.

"And if you ever need a little bit more of a boost than what you've got, we can work that in as well. But not till after you've reached your tolerance level, alrighty?"

"So I just… get this once a week."

"Yes," Allura said. "Shiro said that, back on earth, you hadn't really developed treatments this far advanced yet. It's not a cure, of course, but hopefully it'll be beneficial. Perhaps more beneficial than what was available on your planet."

While Lance supposed that would be nice, he wasn't going to hold his breath either.

"Of course we have more advanced treatments even than this," Coran explained as Lance shucked his jacket off one shoulder and rolled up his sleeve. "But seeing as we don't know the finite details of you humans' chemical makeup—since there aren't enough of you aboard the ship—it's probably be a bad idea to try and implement any kind of chip into your brain to regulate things."

"Yeah, let's not," Lance agreed, holding out his arm.

"Okay, here we go then," Coran said lastly.

The syringe, though large, had only a very small needle on the end. And though there was a prick, it didn't cause any more pain than touching a thorn. Lids heavy with weariness, Lance watched as the blue-ish colored liquid slowly disappeared beneath his skin. It took all of a few seconds before Coran was pulling the instrument back.

But Lance knew it wasn't that simple.

"I also want to give you these," Allura said, stepping forward and dropping two pills into his hand. "I know you're probably tired already, but that doesn't mean sleep will come easy. Take those and, hopefully, they'll help."

He nodded, pocketing the pills before slipping his jacket back over his shoulder.

Sitting for a few moments longer, he listened to Shiro and Allura exchange a few other details, their voices like a quiet buzz in his head. He really was tired and didn't object when Hunk helped him to his feet and then walked with him to his room. And though Hunk asked him if he wanted him to stay longer, he refused.

Once he was alone, the entire weight of the evening collapsed down on him, leaving him almost too weak to make it across the room to his bed. But once he was there, sinking down onto the mattress felt like a sweet relief. Almost like he could melt into it and never wake up again.

Or that was what he wanted to do anyway. Just close his eyes and forget for a while, if only to preserve what little nerve he had left.

Kicking off his shoes, he then shucked off his clothes and decided to forgo his evening routine. Instead—in only his boxers—he crawled into bed and pulled the blanket over his head.

But like a balloon trapping all the air inside, swathing himself away wrapped up everything else with him—including the familiar smell of _Keith_.

It hit him unexpectedly, causing a shiver to dart up and down his whole body. Shaking his head of the thoughts, he pushed the blanket away before leaning down and retrieving his jacket from the floor. Feeling through the pockets, he retrieved the pills Allura had given him and swallowed them without as second thought.

He didn't want to think about Keith. Not what he'd done or what he was doing at that moment. It was just too much.

 _Everything_ was too much.

Once again balling himself up under the covers, he closed his eyes and was asleep far faster than would have been possible if not for the help of whatever Allura had given him.

Waking up, however, was a different story entirely. Lance had never been hungover, so he couldn't attest to what it felt like, but his imagination decided that it was probably something like this. His head was aching, his whole body weak yet echoing with the throb of his heartbeats. Exhaustion in what he felt was its purest form, perhaps.

He didn't get up. Didn't even push the covers away. He stayed curled under them, staring into the dark creases of the fabric as his own breaths reminded him over and over again that he was, in fact, actually there.

That the night before had actually happened.

Perhaps to someone looking in on him like a fish in a bowl, they'd assume he'd be angry. That he'd be filled with layer upon layer of betrayal that would leave him irate. And it made sense, really.

But the fact was, he was too numb to feel any of it. It'd hit him eventually, he knew that, but as of that moment, he was more akin to an ice-cube that had been dropped in a cool glass of water. Just… cold. And drowning.

He practically had to convince himself that, yes, he was mad at Keith. But like the night prior, every reason he came up with for being so was countered by some equally guilt-ridden excuse that blamed himself for Keith's behavior. He _was_ responsible to a certain extent, wasn't he? He'd put this secret on Keith and expected too much of him, right?

So why did those undermining thoughts keep suggesting that he'd been betrayed?

Why couldn't he just blame himself and move on, like usual?

He didn't know how long he laid in bed, such thoughts circling. It was only when his alarm—which was always set—went off that other things started crowding in. Shame—because he should get up and face everyone. Guilt—because he didn't want to and so stayed in bed for even longer. Longer than was acceptable. Hours after his alarm had gone off.

He should be training. He should be _doing something_.

But he didn't. And they all knew anyway, so he couldn't bring himself to care.

Of course, someone would come looking for him eventually.

"Lance?" Shiro's voice was what followed the whooshing of his door. "I just wanted to come check on you."

He didn't respond. What was he supposed to say? That he was fine? Shiro knew that wasn't the truth anyway, so why put in the energy to lie? Maybe if he just stayed quiet and pretended like no one was there, he'd be left alone again.

Instead, Shiro walked further into the room—Lance could hear his familiar, certain footsteps getting closer. He sat down on the bed a moment later, his weight heavier than Keith's. And when he reached out and laid a gentle had on Lance's shoulder through the blanket, it was like he was being stung by bees. Just a few at first, but with each second that passed, Shiro's touch smarted more and more, the numbness fading as he was gradually overcome by everything he'd known was there, but that hadn't been able to get through.

Taking a shaking breath, he bit his bottom lip till it bled and closed his eyes against the tears that managed to leak out.

Still, he said nothing.

Neither did Shiro. Eventually, he pulled his hand back and Lance wondered if he would leave.

But he didn't. Rather, he sat for a few silent moments before shifting. Though he couldn't see it, Lance knew when Shiro had laid down beside him. They weren't touching and nothing was said, but it was acutely overwhelming nonetheless.

Like something was being torn apart inside of him, Lance wanted Shiro to leave just as much as he was thankful that he hadn't. It was easier if he left, because that meant Lance could continue to lay in bed and not care about anything or anyone. And though it was still too much to even consider such notions concretely, the fact that _Shiro_ cared enough about him to just… be there… was deeply poignant. In a way that Lance didn't want to accept but was also desperately craving.

And he stayed. He stayed for hours and said absolutely nothing. The only assurance Lance had that he was lying beside him at all was the sound of his breathing and the heat of his body.

Yet, somehow—in a fashion that Lance told himself was stupid and pathetic—it helped. It loosened the ropes wrapped around his throat just a bit.

Just enough to allow him to really _breathe_.

He didn't want to get out of bed or leave the room, but he did eventually find the motivation to sit up. Remaining wrapped up in his blanket, he stared through bleary, bloodshot eyes out into the room, which was ignited only slightly with a glow meant to mimic daylight during the appropriate hours.

Shiro sat up beside him, but still said nothing.

Minutes passed. Until, finally, Lance found enough of himself in the scattered pieces to form a few words.

"Why did he do it?" he managed to croak out. Nothing world-changing or even deeply telling of his condition. No, just a shallow question that spoke of the rawest emotion coursing through his thawing body. Betrayal he kept trying to tell himself he wasn't justified in feeling. But it was there nonetheless, no matter his shame or guilt.

Beside him, Shiro took a deep breath. "Because he didn't know enough not to," he explained, tone gentle. "Because Keith has his own baggage and his own trauma, and it makes him just as blind and ignorant as the rest of us when we're faced with things we don't understand."

"He wanted to understand," Lanced admitted brokenly. "But I pushed him away."

"That doesn't excuse what he did to you, Lance," Shiro replied, catching on quickly. "Keith, he… he's sorry about what he did, but that doesn't mean it was okay. No amount of 'feeling bad' is going to undo the damage he did. Ignorance and one's own trauma doesn't justify hurting other people, even unintentionally.

"You have every right to be angry at him," he continued, looking directly at Lance even as he refused to share in the gaze. " _I'm_ angry at him. And disappointed. And shocked. Exposing you the way he did was probably the worst method he could have tried to get you help. And he should have known better. But, the fact is, he didn't. Like I said, that doesn't excuse his behavior, but it does explain it. Which, I think, is likely important with how you approach him later."

Lance could have laughed, if he'd had the gumption. Approach Keith? Talk to him? He couldn't even get out of bed!

"I'm not saying it has to be now," Shiro went on, smiling in a small way. "Take the time you need to get better. Keith will be fine until you're ready to talk to him."

Would he be fine? Lance wasn't so sure…

"You're allowed to be hurt by what he did." Reaching out, Shiro laid his hand on Lance's shoulder. "And nothing anyone says makes that wrong or invalid. Is just… is."

Pulling the covers more tightly around him, Lance released a shaky sigh. "But I don't _want_ to feel this way," he whispered.

He was tired of being hurt by Keith. His whole career at the Garrison had been one hurt after another when it'd come to "Keith, the Perfect Pilot." And no, none of that had been Keith's fault. Which was what made this so much worse. For the first time, Keith really had hurt him. Gone and done it purposefully, no matter his intentions. Somehow it made all the dirty pettiness and guilt he'd ever felt for hating Keith that much heavier. One would think it'd be the other way around—that he'd finally feel vindicated in his dislike. But all it really did was make him feel like every doubt he'd had was, in fact, accurate because Keith really had done something this time to put him in his place.

Exposed him and showed the people he, Lance, wanted to impress most just how worthless he really was.

It felt like Keith had convinced him to take all his clothes off and then left him handcuffed to a lamppost in a public place.

Like he'd ripped his chest open and crushed his heart in front of an audience.

"I know," Shiro murmured, rubbing his back. "I know…"

"How could he do this?" he asked, once again assaulted by tears. "I kn-know I was a jerk to him, bu-but I _trusted_ him." No, he hadn't said as much explicitly, but the expectation had been there. And Keith had played along. He'd done his part to hide "it" when Lance had needed him to. Only to turn around and run every small part of himself Lance had given him—unintentionally or not—through a shredder.

"I'm sorry, Lance," Shiro murmured. "I'm so sorry."

A nice apology, but not the one Lance needed.

If such an apology was even possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from vacation! And back to writing. SO HAVE SOME MORE ANGST! And Lance and Shiro time. And next chapter we get some Keith and Hunk time! Because yay for underdeveloped character dynamics getting more attention!
> 
> But seriously, what even is this story? I'm crying, okay, bye.
> 
> Also, before people get M.A.D., Keith is not being ignored, lol. Shiro is just as sympathetic toward him despite anything else he's feeling, we just don't see it in this chapter, OKAY?! SO JUST WAIT!


	13. Chapter 13

"Keith?"

Of course Shiro would come looking for him. It was half an hour past breakfast and he was still holed up in his room, pacing back and forth and unable to control how his muscles twitched and trembled beneath his skin.

He should face this head on and just deal with it. Whether he'd done wrong or not didn't change the fact that he was still a member of Voltron and had responsibilities to deal with. Yet every time he approached the door, his whole body was overtaken with nerves so anxious that he couldn't even open it. His hand would shake too badly and he'd end up backing away and pacing again, up and down the length of his room.

He hadn't slept at all—hadn't even tried. He could barely string two thoughts together. Mostly he was plagued by bursts of concern over Lance—for a plethora of reasons—and anxiety about what he'd done.

Lance would never forgive him. The whole team would hate him.

He'd be alone.

 _Again_.

"Keith, I know you're in there." Shiro once more, his voice causing Keith to jump before he wavered back and forth on his feet and eventually decided that letting him in didn't mean  _he_  had to leave.

Jerking toward the door, he practically punched the button to unlock it before pacing toward the bed. And as the door opened, he slid onto his mattress until he was sitting with his back to the wall and his knees pulled up to his chest.

Shiro was in the room a few seconds later, looking around until he spotted Keith curled up as small as he could get atop the sheets. "Are you- Are you alright?" he asked.

"Perfect," Keith said flatly. "Couldn't be better."

Taking a deep breath, Shiro remained standing beside the bed for a few seconds before ultimately taking a seat on the edge. He didn't say anything, only leveled Keith with that ever-patient "I know you're going to tell me eventually" look that Keith couldn't argue with.

"I can't go out there," he eventually murmured, arms wrapping tightly around his legs.

"That's… not your usual tactic when it comes to dealing with things," Shiro observed.

"Isn't it?" Keith practically snapped. "How am I supposed to go out there and face them after what I did? None of them liked me to begin with, so now I'm sure they'll all hate me." This was why he'd never tried to make friends at the Garrison, or anywhere else for that matter. He'd seen the way people looked at him when he said the wrong thing or done something slightly off. He knew he wasn't normal.

He'd told himself that the team was like the family he'd never really had. That they were bonded despite any differences or facets of himself that were  _wrong_.

He'd been a fool. That kind of thing never changed. He was who he was and it didn't matter how hard he tried, he always messed up in the end.

"Nobody hates you, Keith," Shiro reasoned. As he had so many times before. "You messed up, yes, but it's not the end of the world."

"Easy for you to say."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

"Keith, don't do this."

"I'm not 'doing' anything," Keith defended. "Which is probably better for everyone…"

"Now you're just throwing yourself a pity party."

Gaze snapping to Shiro's, Keith glared. "Gee,  _thanks_."

"I'm just saying that I know you're above this attitude," Shiro continued. "You screwed up, yes. There's no getting around that. But hiding in your room instead of facing it isn't going to help. I figured you'd see that better than anyone."

"What am I supposed to see?!" Keith snapped. "The looks on their faces when they realize how messed up I am? No thanks." He'd seen it all before. There was no forcing his way through this situation. It was easier to run blind when he didn't know what he was running into, but this was different. They were all out there, waiting, and he couldn't force his way through.

"Nobody thinks you're messed up, Keith," Shiro replied. "We've all got our strengths and weaknesses. And-"

"Just stop, Takashi!" Keith practically shouted, beyond frustrated. He was beyond everything, were he being totally honestly. Practically flying off the bed, he began pacing once again, his steps violent as he went from one end of the room to the other. "You don't get it, okay?!" he went on, unable to look Shiro in the eye just as well as he couldn't stop his voice from spilling out. "You're like Lance! Everyone likes you! You're friends with everyone and everyone wants to be friends with you! But I'm not like that! I always screw up! I always say or do the wrong thing! Always, always, always!"

"Keith-"

"And I should just expect it, right?! It's been like this my whole life! What was the point of even trying? I'm never going to get it right no matter how hard I try! I don't even know how to try! Because- because-

"Because there's just something  _wrong_  with me!"

Abruptly, Shiro grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him so they were facing one another. "There is  _nothing_  wrong with you," he said fiercely, his grip so tight that his fingers dug painfully into Keith's shoulders. "Don't  _ever_  think that."

But it was too late—Keith had figured out the truth sometime during middle school. And he'd spent the next few years trying to fix it, trying to fit in. But it'd never worked. By the time he'd gotten to the Garrison, he'd given up completely.

"There  _is_  something wrong with me," he murmured, still unable to look at Shiro. Instead, he stared at the floor. "You know it just as well as I do."

"No, Keith, you're not-"

"Please let go of me."

"What?"

"Let go of me," Keith repeated. "I can't- I need-"

Shiro released him immediately, backing away as he did. Which allowed Keith to breathe properly again before he resumed walking back and forth. Shiro took another step back, watching him with a helplessly furrowed brow. Yet no matter how Keith paced, doing so didn't release any of his stress. Reaching up, he gripped painfully at his hair and tried to contain the frustrated growl that eventually found its way out anyway.

"Keith, here." Though he didn't look at Shiro's face, he did turn toward him enough to spot the knife that was held out for him. Taking the Marmora blade, he continued pacing while twisting the knife—which was safely sheathed—between his hands.

They said nothing for a few moments, Keith's teeth gritted painfully while Shiro slowly sat back down on the edge of the bed.

Eventually, Shiro released a sigh, the sound of it grating on Keith's skull so severely that he nearly stumbled. "Keith, listen to me," he started.

But Keith could only shake his head.

"There's nothing wrong with you," he went on. "You made a mistake—that only makes you human."

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," Keith replied sharply. "You know exactly what I mean."

"I know that all of us are different in our own ways. And that none of it is right or wrong—it just  _is_. No, you're not good with people, and sometimes that means people aren't good with you, but that doesn't mean-"

"Stop acting like it's not true! You know it's true…"

"Keith…"

"It wasn't a big deal when I was kid. I never went to school and Dad was the only one that knew I was weird. I didn't have to interact with anyone except him. But then in foster care, I knew something was off. None of the other kids ever wanted to be around me, none of them were interested in things the way I was. So I stopped caring that I couldn't get close to them or understand them. It didn't matter.

"But it matters  _now_  and I- I don't know what to do because I messed up and I didn't  _mean_  to mess up, but I  _always_  mess up. I hurt Lance, Hunk thinks I'm an asshole—which I guess I kind of am—and soon Pidge will think the same thing because they're all friends with each other and not with me. Allura barely talks to me and Coran never does, and you- you'll…"

"Keith…"

"You'll probably figure out eventually that I'm not worth all the time you've given me and-"

"Keith, I will  _never_  abandon you," Shiro said calmly. He'd risen to his feet again, but didn't attempt to interrupt Keith's constant, repetitive pacing. "Not like that. Not because I want to. And no one thinks you're an asshole. You're not… You're not as close to everyone, maybe, but that doesn't mean nobody wants to be around you."

"Then what does it mean?"

"It means that… that I don't think anyone really realized that- that you  _wanted_  to be closer to them. I didn't even- I always assumed you liked… keeping your distance."

"Why would I  _like_  that?" Keith snapped.

"Because some  _people_  are like that," Shiro replied, though he sounded relatively uncertain. "You never seemed interested in making friends when you were at the Garrison either. I always just assumed you weren't… concerned. You were always more focused on your studies, and your bike, and-"

"Because I don't know  _how_!" Keith said desperately, his voice seeming to scratch against his own throat. "I don't know how to be friends with people! I don't know what to say or what to do or-" Shaking his head fiercely, he twisted his knife between his hands faster, but it wasn't enough. He wanted to throw it—he wanted to throw lots of things. But that wasn't okay. It wasn't okay. It wasn't okay.  _It. Wasn't. Okay_! "I don't know what to  _do_!"

"Alright, Keith. Okay. Just… It's okay. I'll- I'll help you," Shiro said. "Everything's gonna be fine, I promise."

"How do you know?"

"Have I steered you wrong before?"

No. No he hadn't. Shiro was one of the few people that Keith trusted completely. Shiro made sense. Shiro understood how everything with people worked, but he also wasn't emotional or irrational. He was logical, but able to comprehend others in a way that Keith knew he'd never be able to.

Still beyond frustrated, but finding no relief anywhere, Keith slammed his body back down on the edge of the mattress. Still holding his knife in one hand, he bent over and gripped the sides of his head, as though that would somehow stop the spinning. But it didn't. All he could do was rock lightly back and forth and drown in his own anxiety.

"Hey, it'll be okay," Shiro murmured, his hand coming out to settle on Keith's shoulder. But his touch was like a lightning strike in those moments—not comforting and just too much for Keith to deal with on top of everything else. It wasn't comforting like their occasional hugs were, or how Lance's close proximity could be during the night when his thoughts repeated the same horrible events again and again and again.

Too much. Too much.

"Please don't touch me right now," he said, knowing he sounded too harsh as he shied away. But Shiro would understand. Shiro would forgive him.

It was okay. It was okay. It was okay.

"Alright," Shiro said simply and pulled his hand back. "What… What do you want me to do, Keith? What do you need?"

"I don't know, I don't know," he murmured helplessly, still rocking with his head in his hands. "I need to not be like this. I need none of this to have happened. I need- I need- I need Lance to not  _hate_  me."

"He doesn't hate you, I promise," Shiro assured. "He's just hurting. Give him some time."

"But what if he does?"

"He doesn't."

"But what if he  _does_?"

"Keith, I don't… He doesn't hate you."

But what if he  _did_? What if Keith had hurt him so badly that forgiveness was impossible? The thought was terrifying, and left Keith feeling more and more helpless with each second that passed. And more scared. He hated being scared. He hated feeling this way—this anxious; this out of control. But it was like everything in the room was infected with what he'd done and was pressing in on him from every side, suffocating him. Pounding against his head as if to exaggerate every repetitive thought that wouldn't leave him alone.

"My fault, my fault, my fault," he muttered, banging his own fists against his head as if that would counter the hammering of everything else. It didn't, but he kept trying.

"Keith, don't- don't hurt yourself. Please." Shiro sounded like he was begging him. He sounded so worried, which Keith knew was his fault too.

Shiro had never seen him like this. Nobody had except his father, who'd ignored it before repeating that there was no reason for Keith to act as he had. Mostly his father hadn't had the patience to deal with it and so had simply allowed Keith to tire himself out. That had taught him, taught Keith, that such behavior wasn't okay. As a kid, he'd figured it was normal and he'd just had to learn, and he'd been proud of his eventual "control." But he'd never been in control—just better at hiding it. Better at fading into the background when he realized other kids didn't act this way, that he wasn't like them.

When Shiro had come into his life, he'd been determined not to let it show. It had anyway—his lack of social skills, his misunderstandings. But Shiro hadn't minded that, hadn't pushed him, and so he, Keith, had never had reason to, as his father had said, "throw a tantrum." He'd never allowed himself to get into situations that made him frustrated enough. Teenagers hadn't fallen into "tantrums" anyway, or so he'd told himself. He was mature. He didn't need those other kids.

But how he'd  _wanted_  them. Finally, he'd gotten just a small taste of "friendship," only to screw it up. Now he'd lost all his "control" and Shiro was there and just…

He wished it would all stop.

Yet the world kept spinning and his thoughts kept up their constant abuse.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, though he couldn't look at Shiro. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I can't- I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Shiro murmured. "I promise it's okay."

But it didn't matter if Shiro thought it was okay—that didn't make a difference. Nothing did. He was stranded in a pit and though he tried to claw his way out, he couldn't.

He  _couldn't_.

Slipping off the mattress, he sank down onto the floor. He knees folded up against his chest and he was able to tuck his head between his knees. Closing his eyes, he tightened his fingers around his hair and rocked in place. He didn't know for how long he sat there, or if Shiro said anything else to him The ringing in his ears was like a mallet bouncing between hundreds of wind chimes. It wasn't until the echo finally began to dissipate that his thoughts began to smooth themselves flat. Until he was motionless beside the bed.

His breath was shaky, but he could hear it. And he could hear Shiro breathing beside him. The anxiety still lit up inside him like a snapping current dashing through his veins, but at least it was contained within those veins once again. Instead of striking through every part of his body.

He just needed to focus on breathing in and out.

In and out, in and out.

"Keith…?"

"Sorry," Keith said again, though his voice came out gruffer than it had previously. "I didn't mean to… do that."

What else could he even say?

"It's alright," Shiro tried to reason.

"No, it's not." Finally pulling his head up from between his knees, Keith leaned his chin on the tops of them while hugging his arms around his legs. He couldn't bring himself to look up at Shiro, but kept speaking. "So could you stop saying that it is?"

There was a pause between them.

"What do you want me to say?" Shiro eventually asked.

But all Keith could do was shake his head.

Another beat of silence ballooned up between them, but this one didn't last long either.

"You look exhausted," Shiro started. "I don't think Lance will be up today either—maybe you should take a day to rest too. Did you sleep at all last night?"

Keith shook his head again.

"Don't worry about training then," Shiro determined. "Just get some sleep."

"Can't." Keith's voice nearly broke as he admitted as much.

"What?"

"I can't sleep," he admitted, no defenses left. "I won't be able to. I… I've been sleeping with Lance."

"You've been…"

Keith gulped. "Sleeping with him in the room, with him… close… made it easier. That's how I've been dealing with… I've been sleeping in Lance's room. With Lance. Only sleeping."

"I see…" Shiro sounded almost overly thoughtful. "That… explains a few things."

"Please don't tell anyone."

Shiro sighed. "I won't tell anyone. But I wish you'd said something earlier. Maybe sleeping with Lance has helped you, but that's no more a permanent solution than the sedatives Allura was going to give you. Maybe being dependent on, well, on Lance isn't as bad, but it's not a practical solution either."

"We were trying to see if eventually I'd get better."

"And have there been any improvements?"

Keith shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. Everything's been getting more and more… messed up. It used to be anxiety over him dying and the nightmares, but now there's- there's what he tried to do to himself before we knew each other and his depression and what I did and…"

"Okay." Shiro took a deep breath before slipping down to sit on the floor beside him. "Look, I think it's probably best if you and Lance give each other some space for a while." Not that there was really any getting around that by then. "From what I'm gathering, a lot has happened between you two recently and maybe it… it wasn't under the best circumstances. I realize that maybe it was comforting to both of you, having the other there, but I don't think either of you are in a position to be helping each other. Not like… that."

Keith tightened his hold around his legs and blinked rather rapidly.

"I'm not saying that you and Lance can't be close in whatever way the both of you want," Shiro said gently. "Or that both of you aren't capable of supporting one another. His mental illness and your issues don't mean that the two of you can't be… whatever it is you want to be. But I think a little bit of a cool down between the two of you might benefit the situation."

"You say that like there's any other option," Keith muttered.

"Well, there is," Shiro reasoned. "You could stay here and do nothing, and keep on wishing for forgiveness while Lance is trying to get better.  _Or_  you could make a conscious decision to try and get better too, so that when the two of you  _are_  ready to talk again, you're more on the same level.

"I'm going to be honest, Keith. You and Lance getting as suddenly close as you apparently have over… your problems and then his, it sounds like… That's not a good basis for any relationship, friendship or otherwise.

"I'm not saying the two of you should avoid each other until all of this is better, because that's unrealistic and impossible and will never happen—these kinds of things never go away. I know that from personal experience." Reaching out, he laid a hand gentle hand on Keith's shoulder again, though this time Keith didn't shy away. "And it is okay for the two of you to depend on one another for support, if that helps. We all need someone in our lives to help carry the weight. But just as you can't carry all of Lance's load, you can't expect him to carry yours."

"We thought maybe I would get better…" Keith said weakly.

"I know," Shiro murmured. "And I wish it was that… romantically easy. I wish that- that talking to Allura was all I needed to deal with… what happened to me. But it's so much messier than that. And if we refuse to see that reality, it only gets worse."

Chin trembling, Keith nodded.

"You wanted to help Lance. And even though you didn't go about it the right way, you were trying to do the right thing. But now you need to do the right thing for you." Shiro squeezed his shoulder. "If Coran and Allura can help Lance and I, they can help you too. And maybe once all of this settles, Lance can be the person you talk to about it. But you can't cover this kind of stuff up with wishful thinking. That's just… not how it works."

"Okay…" Keith whispered.

"You don't sound okay with it."

Keith managed a short huff, something like a laugh maybe. "It makes me nervous," he admitted. "It was easy to avoid back on Earth."

"Avoid what?"

"Avoid the doctors telling me that… that there really is something wrong with me." It was one thing to know it himself, but to have some kind of professional, or in this case Coran and Allura, verify it? That somehow made it worse. And he didn't mean the anxiety caused by Lance and the nightmares. It was everything else that he was scared of. If they scanned his brain or whatever, they'd know, right?

 _Right_?

Scooting closer, Shiro wrapped his arm around Keith's shoulders. "There's nothing wrong with you," he said, tone firm yet gentle. "Not like how you're thinking. We're all different—we all think and feel things differently. That's part of what makes our team so diverse and what balances us out. You were chosen to be a part of this team because you belong here. The red lion didn't pick you because you were best at the flight simulator or because you're a good fighter. She picked you because she can see in you everything that you're too busy ignoring in favor of focusing on everything you're not.

"But we're all 'not' plenty of things. It's what we  _are_  that matters. So what if you're not great with people and say the wrong thing sometimes? That's not what defines who you are. It's a part of you, but it's not  _all_  of you. And though you might not believe it, no one else defines you by what you're 'not' either.

"If you give the others a chance, then they'll give you one too. Honestly, if you can befriend Lance, I think the others should be easy."

That did pull a bit of a laugh out of Keith. "I guess that makes sense."

"We're not in middle school, or foster care, or the garrison. And Dad definitely isn't here. Whatever it was that any of them said to you, or made you think, was out of immature pettiness. And while that's normal for kids, it says more about the adults who react the same way than it does about you. And no one on this ship is that petty or that mean."

"Yeah, okay," Keith quietly agreed.

"I'm serious." Shiro jostled him lightly. "How many times has Lance taken a step back to explain a joke or a turn of phrase to you without you even having to ask? And even he knows he's the pettiest one on the team."

"He's not that bad," Keith defended weakly.

"Exactly."

"Alright, I get it."

"Do you?"

"Yes!" Rolling his eyes, Keith tried to push him away, but Shiro wouldn't budge. Instead, he held tighter—irritatingly so—which resulted in an eventual sigh from Keith. Not that he had much in the way of energy to shove him off in the first place.

"Is it alright if I tell Allura and Coran you do, in fact, need their help?"

"Yeah, I guess…"

"Hey." Shiro jostled him again. "It'll be fine."

Leaning over, Shiro pulled Keith close enough to place his lips against his hair—a motion he hadn't indulged in since the nights, years ago, when Keith had crawled into bed beside him and pretended like Shiro hadn't known he was there.

"Everything will turn out alright, you'll see," he murmured. "Lance will forgive you."

All Keith could do was vaguely nod in response, more so because he didn't know what else to do than because he believed such things.

Shiro got up and left a few moments later, Keith pushing himself back up onto the edge of the mattress and tried to focus more on Shiro's words than the anxiety that was trying to reestablish dominance in his head. It'd succeed eventually, he knew, but before it could, Shiro returned with Allura, a familiar syringe in her hand.

He couldn't bring himself to look either of them in the eyes.

"Shiro told me you couldn't sleep," she said, tone plain and simple as she sat down beside him. "I know you don't like to be put under, but after everything that's happened, you really should get some rest."

"Yeah, I know," he muttered. "Shiro already covered all that." Shucking off his jacket, he held out his arm willingly.

Allura passed him a sympathetic smile before pulling the injection free of its safety covering.

"Uh," Keith started just as she was about to slip the needle into his skin. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For what I did. It wasn't fair to Lance and it also wasn't fair to any of you."

Allura smiled in a small way. "It's okay," she said as the needle finally pierced his skin. "We'll get through it."

Nodding, Keith closed his eyes as he felt the heavy stinging of the foreign liquid entering his veins. Once Allura pulled the needle free again, he took a deep breath and pulled himself more fully onto the bed. Like anesthesia, he could already feel it pulling his body into the mattress, his eyelids heavy. He was kind of wary of the nightmares, but supposed this sleep would be too dense for him to be bothered by them.

"Are you doing alright?" Allura's voice echoed distantly in his lagging thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm alright," Shiro replied. "Just… dealing with one thing at a time."

"I know this can't be easy on you either," she continued. "If there's anything I can do…"

"It's fine, really," Shiro persisted. "I'm gonna go check on Lance."

"Shiro…"

That was all Keith heard before he was pulled completely unconscious.

Waking up from that kind of sleep was a challenge in and of itself. Keith wavered in and out for some hours before he finally reached the point of being able to keep his eyes open. And even then, his body felt too heavy to pull out of bed. He didn't remember anything of any nightmares, though he was certain he'd had them. And despite the fact that he'd probably slept far over twelve hours, he felt no less exhausted.

Mentally, anyway.

When he finally did find the energy to sit up, he glanced over at the digital clock on his dresser to see that it was a few hours before their normal waking time. He'd slept nearly a whole day.

Going to the bathroom, he took a quick shower to brush off the rest of what remained of his artificial sleep. Drying his hair, he found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror, which wasn't fogged as he'd opted for a cold shower.

He never quite knew what to think when he looked at himself in the mirror. He'd never thought to care. But, as they had in so many other ways, Lance's words weaseled their way into his brain.

" _I like pretty things, Kitten._ "

In retrospect of everything that had happened, those words seemed an eternity away. Yet Lance's voice in Keith's head still had his cheeks heating up until he was a healthy shade of red. Still, he faced his reflection head on and tried to reason away his blush. Whatever had happened between himself and Lance prior to "the event" (as he'd come to call it) didn't matter. If there'd been a chance of anything "more" happening, those notions were brutally dashed as of that moment.

Which was heartbreaking for Keith. But he'd done it to himself, really, and so now he had to harbor that reality. Even if it did feel like every organ in his chest was gone and replaced by a black hole.

Yet he still couldn't help wondering at the impossible. It was more painful, yes, but he couldn't stop himself.

Did Lance really think he was pretty?

He'd never considered how attractive he was, if he was attractive at all. But now that such things had been brought to his attention, he found himself curious. His reflection didn't seem entirely impressive to him, after all. He was skinny and narrow. He had some muscle, but if Lance was lanky, then he was built like a toothpick. He could see his ribs poking out, and his skin seemed to be a pallor that was entirely too pale to be attractive. Or, rather, it was dull and lacking in the pearliness that pale skin tended to require in order to be considered attractive.

Nothing like Lance, who still seemed to glow despite the lack of sunlight. Where Lance stood out like a bronze colored banner against the dullness of the castle lighting, Keith faded into the fluorescents.

Leaning closer, Keith narrowed his eyes and poked at the new zit forming on his chin. Lance had perfect skin. Keith had never cared. And maybe it did show in his pores or in the red spots. Or even in the bags under his eyes.

Maybe the lack of care also showed in his hair, which Lance had always complained relentlessly about. It was rather shaggy looking he supposed, and the bangs hung too low. The ends in the back were broken and uneven.

All things he'd never cared about before.

But Lance thought he was pretty?

Pursing his lips, Keith scrunched up his nose, but ultimately couldn't see it. He wouldn't go so far as to say he was unattractive, but he certainly didn't see anything special. Shrugging, he left the bathroom, fresh out of ideas to distract himself. He tried to think again of what Lance had said, but the moment was past.

He was left with a final notion that if he saw Lance, would he appreciate some kind of effort on Keith's part? When it came to how he looked?

Who was he kidding, Lance wouldn't care. Keith was probably the last thing Lance would ever want to think about again.

Yet Keith pulled his hair into a low ponytail anyway, supposing maybe that was a little better.

What was Lance doing, he wondered? Was he okay?

Probably not.

Keith tried to push his anxieties away.

Fully dressed, he sat down on the edge of his bed and looked warily at the door. Normally if he was up early, he'd go train. Or that was what he'd have once done when normal had been a variable in his daily routines. Yet since he'd started spending the nights with Lance, that part of his morning had completely changed.

He liked routine. He liked having something to do. And if he was always aware of what he was doing, it made dealing with the war somehow easier. Like he wasn't just sitting around,  _waiting_  for something to happen.

But he was also still nervous about leaving his room. He was hungry as well, but any inkling of such was overcome by his nerves.

And so he sat, only growing more and more anxious as he did.

Twisting his knife in his hand, he sighed and tapped his heel repeatedly atop the floor. His attention—searching desperately as he was for a distraction—eventually fell to the pin sitting on his dresser.

Pushing himself to his feet, he placed his knife at his back before picking up the pin and looking it over. Despite Allura and Coran's recommendations, he had yet to use it. In fact, he'd nearly forgotten all about it.

Twisting it between his fingers, he returned to the bed and sat down again. For a few moments, he simply stared down at the shiny surface. Until his typical impatience won over. Poking the center of the pin, he held it up in front of his face and narrowed his gaze rather suspiciously.

"I don't really know what we're supposed to say to this… thing," he admitted after a moment, feeling quite foolish upon hearing his own voice aloud when he was the only one in the room. "Some kind of catalog of what we do when we're not in our suits, I guess."

He looked around the room stupidly, as if searching for something to talk about.

"Shiro said that after I meet with Coran and Allura, I might have to talk to someone. About my nightmares and stuff.

"Because I have nightmares," he clarified, as if he had an audience that wasn't aware. "About Lance. About Lance dying. And my brain can't seem to let the whole thing go."

Sighing, he nearly dropped the pin in the same moment—probably still recovering from the forced sleep—and was only moderately surprised to see that the pin remained in the air. It simply hovered, continuing to take him in even as his hands fell to his thighs.

"Well that's convenient," he muttered.

"So that's the thing I guess," he continued after a momentary pause. "I have to get this whole thing figured out. Which only seems reasonable since Lance… Because of what I did to him." He stared down at his hands, rubbing his fingers against his pant legs. "I kind of wish I could talk to Lance about this, that he could, like, be my person or whatever—since he already knows—but that probably won't happen."

He looked back up at the pin. "I really screwed up," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to hurt Lance, I just… didn't know what to do. And I was scared. Which doesn't justify any of it. I know that. But it was kind of nice, having Lance actually like me for a little while. If that was what was happening, or whatever.

"Shiro says he'll forgive me." He shrugged. "But even if he does—which I don't see how he could—I don't think… I don't think he'll ever trust me again. Which isn't his fault. I blew the one secret he didn't want me to, so I guess not trusting me is reasonable."

He twisted his fingers together. "I don't want to defend what I did—I know I messed up. And I know there's no undoing it. But I just… wish he knew that I didn't mean to do it like that. Or to break his trust. I haven't really had friends before, other than Shiro, but I like to think that if I did, I wouldn't be the kind of person that would go spilling other people's secrets. Gossip has always seemed stupid to me, and even if people did tell me their secrets, I don't see why I'd get any satisfaction out of telling anyone else." He laughed bitterly. "I think I'd be satisfied just having a few secrets, because no one's ever told me any secrets except… except Lance. And Shiro I guess. But Shiro's my brother, so I feel like that's not really the same thing…

"Of course, it'd figure that the one time I had a friend who did tell me something, I'd screw it up and tell the entire ship. I was letting my own fear control me, I know that now. I was… was scared of what Lance was dealing with, and how it might hurt him. I never wanted to hurt him, so I guess I didn't think it was possible that I would.

"I didn't mean to be selfish. I never… mean to be." He stared off to the side for a few moments, lips tight as his eyebrows furrowed. "But maybe I am," he murmured. "I was more afraid of losing Lance than I was of what my actions would do to him. I can't believe I didn't even think about how  _he'd_  feel after what I did. Shiro says that we're all different and that me not being good with people is a part of me that everyone accepts. Or something.

"But I'm not good at knowing what other people feel either. I don't even consider other people's feeling most of the time. It's easier, I guess, just… doing what has to be done and supposing that if someone is bothered, it's worth what's gained. But I guess that doesn't always work. It's probably better if I don't help people at all when it comes to that kind of thing—I don't know how and I should have known better.

"I shouldn't have said anything. Just because I know something doesn't mean it's my business.

"Lance trusted me and I… blew it."

He ran his hand through his bangs, pulling at a few of the locks in frustration.

"I wish he knew how sorry I am," he said, his voice stretched paper thin. "I wish…"

He swallowed hard, the feeling bitter. "But I guess that's a pointless thing to do. Maybe I did get caught up in the romance of it all, like Shiro said. But real life isn't like that. There's no point in wishing I guess. That's not going to solve anything."

Grinding his teeth, he sat for a few second of silence before growling in frustration. "Whatever," he said, reaching out and taking hold of the pin. Turning it off, he glared down at it for a moment before getting to his feet and replacing it on the dresser.

He tried to convince himself to go train, but couldn't get up enough nerve to leave his room. Instead, he paced some and stared at the door, as if waiting for it to explode. It was only once the time ticked toward breakfast that he was startled by a knock on the door.

It was Shiro of course. Come to fetch him as if he'd known Keith wouldn't leave his room on his own.

He was afraid to leave, but it was fear that had led him to act as he had with Lance. And that had stopped him from getting the proper help that  _he_  needed.

He couldn't let fear control him, even if leaving his room and going to the dining hall had him so caught up in nerves that even breathing seemed difficult.

Yet as they entered, no one was there. He and Shiro were alone, which was relieving to Keith. Going to his regular seat, he sat down and welcomed the feeling of enclosure the chair granted. Being there first meant that, as Hunk and Pidge eventually found their way in, he didn't have to look at them. If they looked his way, he didn't know. Instead, he stared at the table and put all his focus on his breathing.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

"Uh, I tried to help Coran with breakfast, but he told me he had it covered," Hunk said, taking his own seat across the table as he did. Keith could see it out of the corners of his eyes. Pidge sat down beside Hunk, a seat she'd taken up when Lance had begun sitting next to Keith. Shiro was beside him now, which wasn't typical.

Keith didn't know if he appreciated that or not.

"Righto I do!" Coran announced as he came in, robotic floating trays following along beside him as he made his way to the table. Keith allowed himself to observe the proceedings, figuring that so long as he didn't look anyone in the eye, he should be alright. Maybe.

"Where's the princess?" Coran asked a second later, as the breakfast trays were landing in their proper places.

"I'm right here," she said as she entered the room, smiling to Coran as she made her way to her seat.

"Ah, good, good, then I guess… that's everyone for today."

"Okay, no," Pidge interjected fiercely, despite how the breakfast trays lids came off anyway. "What's going on? First Keith and Lance are both missing all day and no one explains anything. And now Keith's back, but he looks like a yupper puppy that just got kicked across the room, and Lance is  _still_  gone." She looked at each one of them imploringly. "Where is Lance?"

"Pidge-"

"And don't make up some excuse, Shiro," she interrupted. "We're supposed to be a team, but I know I'm the only one in the dark here." She glared at Hunk accusingly, who pretended to be preoccupied with putting food on his plate. Keith wasn't sure he dared move at all.

At the end of the table, Allura sighed. "We're going to have to address it eventually," she said, looking to Shiro as she did. And while Shiro didn't object, the hum he released didn't sound all that pleased either.

Pidge crossed her arms over her chest and waited with a strictly impatient expression.

"It's come to our attention as of late that there are some… problems between the paladins that need to be addressed," Allura started, sounding very careful with her words. Despite her attempt, Keith still felt hot and self-conscious. "Problems that are apparently more severe than I realized."

"Problems." Pidge repeated. "What does that mean?"

"It means that our situation is not a preferable one," she explained. "You have all become paladins without any training and been thrust into battle before you've even been able to build a proper rapport with one another. And while our situation does not have the luxury of time needed to support such things as they should be, when lack of these fundamentals effects the health and wellbeing of the paladins, that is something that cannot be ignored."

"Okay, so I get that you're a politician and everything," Pidge replied. "But all you had to say was that Lance and Keith finally got into a bad enough fight that they, what, actually hurt each other? Can't say we didn't see that coming."

Keith tried not to take the words like a punch to the gut. His efforts failed.

"That's not what happened," Hunk hissed a second later, his tone clearly surprising Pidge. "This is serious."

"O-Okay…" she squeaked out meekly.

Allura took a huffing breath before continuing. "Lance is being taken care of, so please don't worry. He'll be back with all of you soon. But until then, we need to take this time to build up our personal relationships with one another. We've been coasting too long on tolerating our team as opposed to wanting to  _be_  a team."

"We'll be focusing on personal bonding exercises today," Shiro cut in. "Pidge, you'll be with me. Hunk, Keith, you two will be working together."

"The asteroids nearby are stocked full of valuable minerals that we can salvage and sell," Coran interjected happily. "Not exactly paladin level work, but someone has to do it if we want to be able to afford food and parts to repair the castle!"

And while Keith understood why Shiro was pairing him with Hunk, he wasn't looking forward to it. It didn't help that his thoughts were constantly plagued by Lance. How long would he be able to go on before his nerves got the better of him and he ended up doing something he shouldn't? Like trying to talk to Lance?

He knew that would end badly. He needed to focus on something else.

Doing his best to put his attention on eating as well as their duties for the day, Keith somehow made it through. Though he was constantly plagued by thoughts of Lance, his anxiety over having to work all day with Hunk competed well enough to keep him somewhat grounded on what he was supposed to be doing.

Their armor in place, they took the yellow lion out as it was more suited to this kind of work. Standing back behind the captain's chair while Hunk flew them from the castle, Keith was quiet.

"So…" Hunk said after a moment, Keith already feeling his insides shriveling up, "…I think that, uh, Shiro wants us to talk about… what happened. Right?"

Keith couldn't bring himself to agree. Instead, he pursed his lips, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at the floor.

"Right…" Hunk clicked his tongue before taking an audible breath. "Look, I don't really think rehashing what you did is going to help. You apologized and everything and even though it was a bad decision, I realize you didn't mean to do what you did."

"Gee, thanks," Keith muttered.

Hunk looked back at him around the seat, eyebrows furrowed, before frowning and turning back to the view screens.

"And so I guess it's my turn to apologize," he continued, his claim surprising Keith into looking up at the back of the captain's chair. "Lance is my best friend, okay? We've been roommates since we started at the Garrison and he's, like, really important to me. But I guess I let that kind of blind me when it came to how nasty he was to you. He's always been really threatened by you and I just didn't want him to get insecure about being around you."

"Threatened?" Keith asked.

"Yeah. I mean, at first he really liked you, but then you were kind of a dick and then were really good at everything and yeah, Lance just couldn't stand you."

"I was a- When was I a dick to Lance?"

Hunk looked back at him again. "You really don't remember us from the Garrison, do you?"

"I- well… No." Keith put his focus on the floor again. "I kind of remember you, but that's only because you're so… You're hard to not remember in the hallways and stuff." But no, he didn't remember Lance at all, aside from the fact that he was a cargo pilot in one of his classes.

"The first time we tried to talk to you, you completely blew us off," Hunk explained, returning his attention to flying. "I mean, I didn't really care that much, but Lance took it pretty personally."

"When did I blow you guys off?"

"You were always sitting alone and stuff, and Lance thought you must be lonely, so he hatched this plan to sit with you at lunch. But when we sat with you, you gave us a mean look across the table, grabbed your tray, and left."

Eyebrows scrunching close, Keith thought back. If someone had tried to befriend him, he would remember, right? Because that never happened. The most that had happened to him during lunch was that groups of assholes would notice he was alone, hogging a table, and sit down around him until he left. He eventually just started going back to Shiro's apartment to eat.

He thought harder. Certainly if someone like Hunk had sat with him, he'd remember. But no pleasantly surprised memories surfaced.

"Did we talk?" he asked.

"No. You didn't even give us the chance before you grabbed your stuff and stomped off."

Stomped off? Frankly, most of his memories of eating in the garrison cafeteria were unpleasant. He'd only done it the first few weeks after he'd started, before he'd established himself as an impressive potential pilot. Which gave every jerk in the place the chance to single him out as "that weird kid that never talks" and promptly start bullying him. It was only well into his second year, after he'd succeeded in getting high marks and been seen hanging around with Shiro, that people had changed their tune. But it'd been too late by then for him to care.

"I… probably thought… you were doing something else," he admitted quietly.

"Hmm?"

"People used to harass me, when I first started at the Garrison." He shrugged. "I guess cuz I'm weird or whatever. All the tables in the cafeteria seated eight people, so it was hard to eat alone. And it was crowded. People were always… stealing my table by forcing me out, I guess because it was a waste to be alone in such a crowded place."

"Oh…"

Keith shrugged. "No one ever wanted to sit with me, so if you guys tried to, I probably thought you just wanted my table."

"Which would explain the nasty glare and the stomping off," Hunk finalized.

Keith didn't say anything. Instead, he could only stare curiously at the back of Hunk's chair when the other boy started to chuckle.

"It's just," Hunk eventually started, "kind of ridiculous. Like, Lance was so  _mad_  at you." Which weren't exactly comforting words at that point. "He wasn't that great at speaking in English then either, so he'd been super nervous about talking to you. He'd practiced what he was going to say to you in the mirror for, like, a week."

Keith was even more surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah. Talking to you was all  _he_  talked about for days. And then after you snubbed us, he found more and more reasons to hate you. He's always been kind of obsessed with you, actually."

Keith curled his nose. "I don't know… what that means."

Hunk chuckled again. "You should have heard him the first time he saw you. It was during orientation, before classes had started. We were sitting, like, a few rows behind you I guess? That was right after I'd met Lance. Anyway, he grabbed my arm and literally pointed at you. He said something like, 'Look at that!' and I was like, 'What?' and he was like, 'Very pretty boy,' and I was like, 'Huh?' and then he said something like, 'but his hair very stupid.'"

Blushing furiously, Keith reached up to grab his hair, only to remember he was wearing his helmet.

"My hair's not stupid…" he said weakly.

"So he kept staring at you for a while, right? Looking super intense and, you know, like he gets when he's really focused, or glaring at you. Before turning to me and saying, 'Yes, it's decided. I will make him married to me.' And, like, it's really funny thinking back now."

" _What_?!" Keith squawked.

"Well, I mean, it's just kind of funny. Ironic? Maybe that's not the right word, I don't know. I guess he had a crush on you? For a few weeks before he decided he hated you anyway. And now here we are. In this… situation. So maybe it's not that funny after all."

"He really said those things?" Keith asked, relatively breathless.

"Sure. Too bad we had all that miscommunication though. Who knows, maybe you and Lance woulda been friends or something. I mean, clearly that's gonna be kind of difficult now since neither of you seems to like the other very well. So maybe you wouldn't have been friends. Maybe you'd still hate each other after having gotten to know each other."

"I don't hate him," Keith muttered.

"Well, I guess hate is a pretty strong word. 'Strongly dislike' one another then."

But Keith  _didn't_  dislike Lance. Not even a little. It was the exact opposite. And though Hunk's story had him more than a little flustered, he was just as equally bitter. All that time ago Lance had singled him out and gone out of his way to try and talk to him. Only for Keith to, albeit unintentionally, throw it in his face.

How different would things have been if he'd just… given them a chance?

Instead of pushing them away.

"I'm sorry I left the table," Keith said after a moment. "I wasn't used to people wanting to be around me. I'm… still not."

Hunk shifted, as though he was about to look back at him, but then changed his mind.

"Hey, I'm sorry too," he eventually said. "I didn't know it was that hard for you to approach me. I don't think Pidge knows either. We always just assumed you didn't really want to be, like, friendly-friends with us. Guess we kinda thought you didn't like us that much, since you and Shiro seem to get along fine and everything."

"I've known Shiro a long time, that's all."

"Yeah, I get that now."

"And he… he's the only person that's really gone out of his way to be around me. That I know of, I guess."

Hunk hummed once more. "So you're just, like, super awkward then, huh?"

Keith looked at the floor again.

"I mean, I guess we all kind of figured that out after a while, but you're, like,  _super_  awkward. Like, way more than I realized. But now that I think about it, Lance… Lance kinda knew.  _Knows_. Sure, he was still mean to you, but… Yeah, he knows. Huh. Guess I just didn't think that hard about it until now."

"You didn't… think about it?" Keith asked, though he was relatively uncomfortable at Hunk being so blasé about pointing out his faults.

"Well, I mean, I guess I  _kinda_  knew. The same way I know that Pidge isn't that great with people either, or that Lance is super insecure, or that Shiro is way more scared most of the time than he lets on. Or that Allura is really afraid we're going to fail. Like, I knew, but I didn't know that I knew? Does that make sense?"

"I- No." Allura thought they were going to  _fail_?!

"Eh, that's alright. It's not important."

But it sounded important to Keith!

He didn't voice as much, however. Instead, he waited as a long silence cropped up between them. What he was waiting for, he didn't know. Was Hunk still pissed at him? Or did this conversation fix that? He didn't know Hunk well enough to tell.

"So… how did you figure out Lance has depression anyway?" Hunk asked after a minute of quiet had passed between them.

"Uh." He didn't exactly want to go out those kinds of details, both for Lance's sake as well as his own. "I just… figured it out."

"You figured it out?" Hunk repeated. " _You_  did?"

For once, Keith didn't miss the implication. "Shiro has depression." A fact Hunk already apparently knew. "I know how it works."

"Mmm, that makes sense I guess."

The subject of Lance's depression brought a wave of tension flooding back up between them.

"Hey, so, I'm not really mad about what you did anymore. Mostly because I'm not the kind of person that stays mad for very long. And, well, me being mad isn't going to help the situation anyway. I believe you." Hunk paused and Keith wondered if he was supposed to say something. "When you said you didn't mean to do what you did," he eventually explained. "That doesn't make it okay, but I can get it."

Which was nice and all, but didn't exactly make Keith feel any better. Just because Hunk wasn't mad didn't mean Lance wasn't.

"Thanks," he eventually settled for saying, tone flat.

"And I just want you to know that you can come chill with me or hang out or whatever whenever you want," he continued. "Lance is my best friend, sure, but I get that I shouldn't always be on his side. He has been pretty nasty to you and I shouldn't have gone along with it."

"Uh, thanks…" Keith said again, though his voice was a bit sincerer than before.

Pause.

"What I  _mean_ ," Hunk started again, "is that we're friends. So you don't have to be worried about talking to me or whatever. Even if Lance  _really_  doesn't like you now."

Words that were like a slap in the face. Which was when Hunk chose to look back at him, of course, and probably saw the anguish painted over his expression.

"Not that he won't forgive you," Hunk said a second later. "Lance can be petty and immature, and can hold a major grudge but… but he'll forgive you."

Hunk's words didn't sound the least bit convincing.

"He'll definitely forgive you," he repeated.

Yet Keith didn't find the words any more believable no matter how many times they were said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know what to say about this chapter. Except that, poor Keith. I get it, kid, I really do. At least he has a good older brother and Hunk is a good dude. Pidge will be coming in more soon too :)
> 
> Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out. As a result of my appendectomy and, well, just because I'm always like this anyway, I've been severely anemic and didn't know it. Which always makes it hard for me to write or concentrate on anything. But hopefully now things will start getting better :D


	14. Chapter 14

"And how are you feeling today, Lance?" Coran asked, his attention seemingly on the blue screen projected nearby. And though Lance liked Coran a lot, trusted him, and thought he was all-around a pretty great guy, he couldn't help the defensive nerves that were coursing through his veins.

It wasn't the first time he'd left his room since "what had happened," but it was the first time he'd spoken with anyone aside from Shiro and Allura. He knew he couldn't avoid his teammates much longer—the few days he had were already too many—but he was just too… ashamed of what he'd let himself become to put forth much effort into facing them. Their training, the universe, both were suffering as a result, he knew that, and so his inability to cope was only making him feel altogether worse.

But both Shiro and Allura kept assuring him that it was okay. That these things shouldn't be rushed and that the universe wouldn't get much worse than it already was if he took a few days to, well, pull himself together. That wasn't what  _they'd_  said, not in so many words, but that was how Lance looked at it. Yet he found himself unable to take much comfort from such assurances. After all, Shiro had depression too, and had been off his meds the whole time he'd been captured, but he hadn't allowed that to impede his ability to lead Voltron. Not even in the beginning when he'd likely been feeling his worst (plus, there was the whole PTSD thing to add to the mix).

If Shiro could press through it, then didn't Lance have a responsibility to do the same?

"Lance?" Coran looked at him then. He jumped just a bit, his fist closing atop his knee. They were in the infirmary, Lance seated with a few different probes attached to various parts of his head. None of it was painful, but he knew it was invasive. Sure, Coran was only checking his brain function, but the defensiveness that he'd stoked all through his teenage years altered any kind of rationale viewpoint.

He took a deep breath and told himself over and over again that everything was fine. It was just him and Coran. Besides, he didn't have anything left to hide.

"I'm okay," he finally managed to choke out. He stared down at his lap shortly after, uncertain if he was expected to say anything else.

"'Okay,'" Coran repeated, tapping away at the screen as he did. Yet, if he didn't approve of Lance's response, he didn't say anything else on the matter. They remained silent for the rest of the exam, until Coran was eventually tugging the probes free of Lance's hair and setting them aside.

Pulling up a chair, he plopped down in front of Lance and pulled an ankle up to cross his knee. They sat like that for some seconds in silence, until Lance's discomfort forced him to speak.

"Is this supposed to be my first therapist session or something?" He'd intended his voice to come across as light and humored, but mostly it was just bitter.

"No." Yet Coran didn't seem the least bit offended. "While my talents are quite varied, I know very little of 'therapy.' No one on the ship does, sad to say. But," he leaned forward and held up a single finger, "if you want to talk about anything, I'm happy to listen."

Lance barely laughed. Just barely. "And if I don't want to talk?" he asked.

"Well of course you don't have to," Coran replied simply. "But I remember that, once upon a time, you and I had a heart to heart and it went over quite well. I don't think it'd be much of a stretch to expect any less now."

He said it like it was the easiest thing in the world. And how Lance wanted to believe it was.

But he knew better.

"I know what you're… trying to do," he started after a couple beats of silence. "And I appreciate it. But I'm just… I'm too tired. Still."

Coran nodded. "That's quite alright, my boy." Reaching out, he patted Lance's shoulder reassuringly. "No rush, no rush. I just wanted you to know that the offer was open and that I'll be around whenever you need. We spend an awful lot of time together anyway, hm?"

"Yeah." Lance half rolled his eyes. "Cleaning the ship. Love it."

"Exactly! That's the spirit!"

Another pause wafted up between them.

"Everyone keeps saying it's okay," Lance eventually said, tone meek. "But it's not. It's been four days." Four days since he'd been ripped open for all his friends to see. "That's four days we could have been training, or helping people, or…"

Across from him, Coran took a deep breath. "Hm, perhaps." He shrugged. "But, then again, perhaps not. I want to save the universe just as much as you all, but I'm old enough to have learned a few lessons you're all a little immature to yet. So here's how I see it-

"The idea of 'doing,' is… relatively subjective. There are things we do, and in exchange for doing those things, we give up 'doing' something else. And while this produces different consequences, I don't think viewing it as either good or bad is healthy for anyone, no matter the case. Take me for example." Reaching up, he tugged at his collar. "I was asleep for ten thousand years! Maybe, if I hadn't been, I could have helped my people, but, then again, maybe I'd be dead. Yet if I hadn't been 'doing' that sleeping, I never would have come this far and met you fine paladins. I have regrets of course—we all have regrets—but it's best not to dwell on them. Learn, yes, but we must consciously look forward instead of back. A positive outlook works wonders, at least in my experience.

"Besides, I have a great deal of faith in you." His claim had Lance raising a questioning eyebrow. "While you paladins are only the second generation to have ever existed, I know enough about how Voltron works to realize that doubting your ability to do what needs to be done is pointless. Some of your human behavior may baffle me, and your race is quite physically weak compared to some, strictly speaking, but the lions chose you. And they would not have put off finding new paladins so long unless they were waiting for the right bunch to come along.

"We've all got our struggles—our personal demons—but that does not define what we're capable of. Like any bodily injury, you simply need time to heal. There is no fault to be found in that."

"Too bad the healing pod can't just fix this up, huh?" Lance asked.

"Too bad indeed. But even Altean technology is still developing, or  _was_ , in any case."

Lance picked at his jeans. "Your whole planet was destroyed…" he murmured. "How can you look at me, hardly able to get up in the morning, and think that… Don't you feel…" Cheated? Resentment? Lance didn't know how to put it into words.

Leaning back in his chair, Coran glanced thoughtfully across the room before he responded. "The lions have preferences, you know," he eventually started. "The quintessence—the stream of soul energy that exists in every living thing—exists in them too. And like any quintessence, it's been recycled over countless eons, allowing them to develop their own personalities just as any living creature does. Though Haggar may… zap the lifeforce out of you and your lions, the imprint of your personality, knowledge, memories, it always remains.

"The yellow lion, as Allura explained, is caring and kind, and puts the lives of others above their own. But the yellow lion also values long-lasting vigor and strength, a sort of pillar to hold up Voltron even when the world weighs it down. A moral compass that keeps the team steady even in times of uncertainty. But that doesn't mean these values are not shared in other lions. The green and red lions, though their focuses differ, are both daring and sharp, and so too does the blue lion and the yellow share in similarities—and the red and blue, and green and yellow, and so on.

"The blue lion will only choose a pilot that is also caring and kind, because it is these seemingly simple morals that keep Voltron from swaying beyond a righteous path. You and Hunk will walk us upon that path, after all, and so your hearts must also be unyielding." Leaning forward, he tapped his fingertip against Lance's chest. "But unlike the yellow lion, who is the strength the universe must rally around, the blue lion is the support we don't see. It is the patience Voltron needs to persevere and the quiet resolve that keeps us together even when the world is at its bleakest.

"The blue lion is personal. If the yellow lion is a pillar to hold up the lives of others, then the blue lion is what holds up the lives of this team—without which even the yellow lion would fall.

"I know you care a great deal about your teammates. And that you'd do anything in your power to keep them safe and happy. You're not upset because you think you're letting the universe down, but because you think you're letting your team down. And through them, everyone else. You thought that hiding your own suffering was the right thing to do because it meant less focus put on you and more on the others, who you're more concerned with than yourself.

"That is one of the faults of the blue lion. While the yellow lion, while Hunk, uses personal emotion as a means to push forward, the blue lion, you, views the very personal connection that defines it as a weakness. Why worry about the blue paladin when the rest of the team is suffering?

"Above all, the blue lion is most accepting of change and willing to work with undesirable circumstances. Not because it is flakey or shallow, but because it is willing to take on the weight that none of the rest of the team can handle. When the situation gets rough—when someone is in danger—the blue lion is always the first to step forward.

"But as a result, the blue lion is secretive and has a tendency to over-think. And so sometimes takes on too much without anyone else even realizing." He twirled his mustache thoughtfully.

"When we all thought we'd lost you," his gaze bore into Lance's own, "the whole team was at a loss. You hold this team together in more ways than even I realized, with a subtlety that I will never be able to fully comprehend. You slipped into the consciousness of everyone aboard this ship without us even realizing. And I don't say this as a means to reassure you of your worth, but to point out the flaws of your behavior. You undervalue yourself so severely that even when you are deeply ill, you do not consider yourself worthy of recovery. No, we cannot afford to give you the full attention and time that you deserve, but a few days, a few weeks even, is nothing of consequence if that's what you need to get better.

"I know you'd rather move on and ignore it, that you'd rather pretend there's nothing wrong and put focus on something you feel is more deserving, but this is also the mindset that hurts you. And as someone who's watched a Voltron team fall apart, let me assure you that this team cannot afford to lose you. It can't afford to lose  _any_  of you. So take the time you need to recover because, in the end, we'll all be better for it."

Reaching out, he patted Lance's knee. Lance, whose gaze had long since dropped to the floor. What Coran was saying wasn't so different than what Shiro and Allura had been saying. Or even some of what Keith had said to him during those long nights when they'd…

But it was so much harder to take seriously, to  _believe_ , when his own brain chemistry was constantly telling him otherwise.

"It's alright, I know it's not easy," Coran went on, almost as though he could read Lance's thoughts. "But nothing is, really." Standing, he straightened his pants before walking back over to where he'd left the probes and his holographic notes on Lance's condition. "There is some good news, however. Though it will take time for the medication to start working at its full capacity, you don't appear to be any worse for wear than you were four days ago."

So, all things considered, it could be worse. Or so Lance told himself.

"You'll get there, my boy! Don't worry, don't worry! Just like cleaning the castle takes time, cleaning out all the bad things in our headholes does too."

"You certainly have a way of putting things, don't you, Coran." It was Shiro who'd interjected, the doors to the infirmary closing behind as he made his way across the room. He paused once he reached them, his expression seemingly light despite the gravity of the situation.

"I try to put my own personal spin on things, this is true," Coran agreed.

"Wouldn't want it any other way." Shiro then turned his attention to Lance. "I stopped by because I was curious if you wanted to do some training while you were up and about."

Lance didn't want to do anything, but maybe if it was just Shiro…

"Just… you and me?" he asked.

"Sure." Shiro nodded. "The rest of the team has been assigned projects of their own, so it's just you and I today."

That didn't sound too bad, maybe. And Shiro… Shiro understood. If Lance needed to stop—to not "do" anything—Shiro would get it. Even if that fact made Lance feel just as guilty as it did relieved.

"Okay…" Lance agreed meekly. He didn't look up at Shiro as he stood. Instead, he stared at the floor in front of his feet and shrunk some inside his own shoulders, as if he could get from the infirmary to the training room without anyone being able to see him. Thankfully, Shiro didn't push conversation. The walked in silence across the castle, only the light tapping of their shoes echoing through the halls.

Any nerves ringing in Lance's head as a result of being out in the open were settled when they encountered no one on their way. It was just as Shiro had said—they were alone.

Truth be told, Lance had never trained with Shiro on his own before. He'd hardly ever been alone with Shiro, period, until recently. Shiro had never sought him out as far as he knew, and he'd never had the guts to propose they do anything together, training or otherwise. Shiro and Keith trained together, sure, and Shiro spent quite a bit of time with Pidge and Allura, but he and Lance had never really… clicked. If anything, they actively got along worse than Shiro did with all the others.

But Lance appreciated Shiro's understanding in those moments, even if it was also a bit intimidating.

"Why don't we start out with some basic hand to hand to start out?" Shiro suggested once they were in the training room. "Nothing too strenuous."

"Sure, okay." Lance knew he sounded more subdued than "usual," but he didn't have the energy or inspiration to care. Shedding his jacket, he set himself up in the expected position—legs a shoulder width apart, hands raised—and tried to focus on what they were doing. Shiro worked him through a few simple exercises to start out, all of which Lance was familiar with, before they began picking up the pace and commencing in some light sparring that, while it lacked the intensity of spars with Keith, was useful in its own ways, as it allowed Shiro the time to correct Lance's form and lecture him in other ways.

Ugh,  _Keith_. Why was he always coming back around to  _Keith_?

By the time they decided to take a break, Lance was sweating through his shirt, mostly due to the severity of his concentration. Not only because he'd been trying to avoid thinking about Keith, but because putting his attention on something actively happening made it easier to ignore how terrible he felt, even if the general sensation of shittiness never went away.

He did have to admit, though, that doing something aside from being in his room was nice, if not exhausting. It made him feel less like a useless bag of skin despite the heavy, horrible weight that seemed to be dragging him down twenty-four seven.

But now that he was sitting on the floor, taking a break, he wasn't sure he was interested in getting back up again.

Shiro sat down beside him a few seconds later. Lance didn't look up.

"This is my fault," he murmured after a few minutes, "isn't it?"

It was an understanding he'd come to during the long days and nights he'd spent in his room recently, plagued by nothing but his own thoughts.

Beside him, Shiro released a breath that was somewhere between an exhale and a sigh.

"No. I don't think anyone is at fault, strictly speaking."

"But I cornered him, didn't I?" Lance asked honestly, the notion having been plaguing him more and more. "He knew what was wrong with me, but I wouldn't let him in. I tried to keep him out of it, but once he knew, it was too late, wasn't it?"

"I think Keith knew you needed help, but you weren't wrong to confide in him if that's what you needed to do."

Which wasn't at all what had happened, but Lance supposed that was irrelevant by that point.

"We're a team. And no, that doesn't mean we have to tell each other everything—we're allowed to have secrets of our own or with only those we want to know. But it becomes a problem when those secrets begin to affect how we function as a team. Keith thought your depression was bad enough to address. No, he didn't do it the right way, but his root reasoning was concern. For you."

"I put too much pressure on him."

"No, that's not it." Reaching out, Shiro placed a hand on his shoulder. "We're fighting a war out in the middle of space in a giant robot—I think pressure is something we can all handle at this point. He didn't do what he did because you were too much of a burden. He did it because he was scared for you and he didn't know what to do."

"But what if I am too much for him? What if…?"

"Lance, you're not too much for him. This team is everything to Keith. You… You have to understand his own perspective too." A statement that finally drew Lance's gaze up to meet Shiro's. "I can't… say a lot, because it's not my place, but Keith, he… he's never really had a family. Or even friends."

Which Lance knew. Keith had told him about his father, and foster care, and never being in one place for very long.

"And I used to think that, to a certain extent, he'd made his peace with that. He's always been reserved, and I assumed he didn't want much to do with other people. He was… happy when we were together. But… I wish he'd said something to me. About being bullied or… not knowing how to talk to his classmates." Shiro turned away. "I had no idea until a few days ago that it meant as much to him as it did."

"What do you mean?" Lance asked quietly.

"I always knew that this team meant a lot to Keith. Even if he was distant, I knew that. And I also knew that, to a certain extent, he struggled to relate to anyone. Which is why, when he was struggling after your death, I encouraged him to talk to you. Even though I thought he didn't much want to talk to you, I figured it'd be good for him. I hadn't realized that the actual act of talking to you upset him, or that he did, in fact, want desperately to talk to you, but didn't know how. But even I'm learning—just as much about him as I am the rest of you.

"My point is, everyone on this team means the world to Keith, even if it doesn't seem that way. And if you and Keith have gotten as close as he told me you did, then whatever relationship he has with you is hugely important to him. Just like he didn't give up on me when I went missing, he would never give up on you—he'd go to the ends of the universe for any of us, even if that's a sentiment he's not that great at expressing.

"Whatever problems you have, he would never view them as burdensome. He was probably touched when you confided in him."

Or he would have been, if that was how things between them had worked out. But it hadn't been. Keith had found out about Lance's depression because he'd lost it on him, not because Lance had been comfortable telling him. He'd continued to push Keith away afterward despite Keith's insistence on wanting to help. Lance had thought he'd been doing Keith a service, keeping things bottled up. Keith had needed  _him_ , after all. It hadn't concretely occurred to Lance that he'd needed Keith too. And that, maybe, such an idea was okay, and didn't make Lance a liability.

It was worse as of then, wasn't it? That he'd waited so long saying nothing? Now he had to get better from the bottom up. What if he'd been honest when Keith had asked him to be? How many times had Keith tried to suggest that maybe there was something to do, something that could help? Only for Lance to shut him down.

If he'd just listened, maybe Keith wouldn't have gotten so desperate. Maybe this whole thing wouldn't have blown up like it had, and Lance wouldn't feel as hurt and betrayed as he did.

"It's not a matter of who's at fault," Shiro continued. "Nobody's at fault, not really. Not when the situation is this messy and when no one intended to hurt anyone else. Mistakes were made and hopefully we can all learn from them. Yes, there's pain as a result. But, Lance… Keith didn't mean to hurt you. I don't think he ever 'means' to hurt anyone."

"I know he didn't mean to…" Lance whispered.

"And he didn't do it because he didn't want to deal with you anymore either," Shiro added. "I think Keith would give just about anything right now to be in my place, talking you through this. He might not be very good at it," Shiro cracked a smile, which Lance tentatively returned, "but he'd try."

Which was all Keith had ever done. He'd  _tried_. And Lance had rejected him every time he had.

"It's because he refused to give up that we're in this mess," Shiro concluded.

"It's because of me too, though…"

"Maybe." Shiro shrugged. "But does it really make much difference, trying to decide who's responsible for what? You both made decisions that, at the time, you thought were the right ones. Maybe now you're both learning that they weren't, but no amount of dwelling on that is going to change what happened. Learn from your mistakes, but then… you have to move on." A statement that came from Shiro's lips with a heavy, knowing air.

"Move on to what?" Lance asked.

"Between you and Keith? I don't know. Only the two of you can make that decision. And it's not about wiping the slate clean, or forgetting what happened. You don't have to forget, but I know you can forgive him. It takes time, but the hurt he caused will fade if you're willing to let the wound heal. Some people prefer to keep such things open and festering, but that's not how we learn to move on. That's just… how we keep hurting  _ourselves_. Sometimes, when people hurt us, the best thing to do is leave them behind. And sometimes we just have to accept that no one is perfect or always knows what to do. I don't think you want to leave Keith behind."

"No, of course not. I get that he didn't mean to do what he did." Right after it'd happened, Lance had hurt so terribly that he hadn't understood it. But time, like Shiro said, gave him perspective. He wasn't ready to forgive Keith, not yet, but he could understand.

"And it's not your fault either," Shiro went on. "I know that it probably feels like it is, because I  _know_  that feeling, but sometimes things happen and there's no one to blame. The universe doesn't work in simple, balanced ways like that—a fact that I think all of us know better than anyone."

Lance managed another small smile.

"It'll be alright," Shiro reassured. "Both you and Keith will be alright, I promise."

It was a promise that Lance clung to long after Shiro had made it. Days more passed that Lance generally avoided everyone but Coran, Shiro, and Allura. Yet, when he was alone in his room, feeling uncertain and defeated, he pulled up Shiro's words and told himself that things would get better. Just like when he'd left the hospital after his pass with attempted suicide, he told himself over and over again that time would turn things around. It'd worked once, it could work again. He'd gotten into the garrison; he'd become a fighter pilot. He'd met Hunk. He'd found Blue and, even though being part of Team Voltron was stressful and terrible, he knew he was doing the right thing by staying.

Life was full of ups and downs. He just had to remember that every time things went down, they had that much further they could spring back up. And when he started to feel things sinking inside him, he had to have enough forethought to try and do something about it.

He'd once told Keith to mind his own business because no one knew his mental illness better than he did. Which was true. He had a responsibility, therefore, to be more mindful of it, which he had been since realizing the problem.

But when it became too much for him to handle on his own, that was when he needed to know to ask for help. Even if he was ashamed, it was better than where he'd ended up this time. Or last time.

It was his mental illness that was the humiliation, after all. Not him. Like a growth he couldn't control, it was with him whether he wanted it or not. And there was no shame in that. Just as there was no shame in one of them being injured on the field, or in contracting a disease.

And he knew, without a doubt, that if one of his friends was injured, he'd want them to say something.

Keith was right, really. What right did he have to help others through their hard times if he wasn't willing to ask for help on his side?

Everyone needed help sometimes. And that was okay.

Maybe, eventually, he and Keith would be okay too.

No amount of personal insight, however, could hold sway over Zarkon and his forces. No, they hadn't been actively pursuing Zarkon as of late, but in Allura's attempts to keep them moving—so as to prevent the threat of remaining stationary—they'd come across a fleet of slave traders that they couldn't let get away—not with the act happening right before their eyes. Maybe it seemed silly given the fact that, had Allura aimed the castle a few light years further, they wouldn't have known the difference. But they did know, and so Voltron was needed.

It was the first prick of excitement that Lance had felt in weeks, finally being with Blue again. And the stress of the situation made it easier for him to ignore any anxieties he had over being thrust back into action without having spoken to most of the team in over a week. Yet Lance's isolation wasn't something to discuss when they were warring off lasers and trying to save captives, so that made it easier.

And it was comforting, hearing all of their voices. Even in the middle of battle, Lance found himself realizing just how much he'd missed them. As he'd long since realized, he didn't like being alone, even when he  _wanted_  to be.

Even hearing Keith's clipped, irritated temper made him feel a bit better, though he felt contradictorily like crying in relation as well. But that was an issue he wasn't quite ready to face.

The raid was easy, at least in comparison to other confrontations they'd had. There'd been a few tense moments, as there always were, but the traders hadn't been prepared for an assault by the Voltron lions, thus they hadn't stood a chance. By the time they were headed back to the castle, Lance was actually looking forward to seeing everyone. He was a bit nervous, sure, but he'd managed to get off a few quick remarks during the battle that had had Pidge groaning and Hunk laughing, which made things seem almost… normal.

No, there hadn't been Keith snapping back at him—Keith hadn't so much as said a single thing to him—but he expected that, really. His and Keith's issues were… a different animal entirely.

"You know, got to impress the ladies," Lance was reasoning as he, Hunk, and Pidge stood in the infirmary, where Coran and Allura were treating all the rescued prisoners.

"Yeah, if you'd gotten knocked across the galaxy by that ion beam, they'd have been  _really_  impressed," Pidge replied.

"Well I didn't, so your point is irrelevant." Lance sniffed, uncertain himself if his attitude was real or faked. But maybe, in the end, it didn't matter. Maybe he just had to fake it until how he wanted to feel became a reality.

"You're such a dork," she replied fondly, grinning as she did. She stood closer to him than she had to, and every once in a while—when there was a lull in their conversation—her brows would knit together and she'd look him up and down in curious concern. But every time she did, Hunk would cut in with something to distract them both. Until, finally—in lieu flirtatious joking—she seemed content not to question.

Which Lance appreciated. Mostly, he just wanted things to go back to normal.

But that was hardly possible. Even if Pidge and Hunk were willing to pretend like the elephant was in the other room, no one could avoid seeing it when they looked to Keith.

He hadn't said anything to them since they'd left their lions. Instead, he'd placed himself beside Shiro and remained quiet while discussion between Allura and Coran about what to do with the prisoners echoed above said victims' heads.

It was like a thick pane of glass had dropped viciously between them, blocking Keith off from Lance just as well as Hunk and Pidge. The team was divided, even if they didn't know why or didn't want to be.

Lance spared the back of Keith's head a quick look, but ultimately doing so brought up so much bile in the back of his throat that he couldn't manage it for long. Hunk noticed, and cast him a sympathetic eye that had Pidge falling back on her concerned curiosity. Lance had half a mind to leave after that, supposing that if he did, the tension between him and Keith would also dissipate, allowing the rest of the team to come together. But, as if sensing his intentions, Hunk spoke up before he could.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I don't think there's much we can do here," he decided, despite that not being the case at all. Hunk was always happy to comfort others, prisoners and teammates alike. Then again, maybe that was exactly what he  _was_  doing. "Pidge and have been working on this program that will allow us to make different  _flavored_  food goo."

Lance managed a small smile. "And you need me to be your taste tester, do you?"

"You always get the first taste."

"Yeah, when you make  _good_  food."

"Well, this isn't good," Pidge cut in. "It's like those disgusting flavored beans in the Harry Potter books—we never know what we're going to get because we don't know how to calibrate the program."

"So you need me to be the guinea pig?" Lance asked, pouting as he did. "Why me?"

"Because I'm tired of doing it and Hunk made himself sick last time. We need someone of your resolve to take the taste bud beating."

"So I'm your food goo punching bag, huh?"

"More like…" Hunk pooched his lips thoughtfully. "Food goo connoisseur."

"Ugh…" Lance slumped his shoulders. "Fine. But you have to make me  _actual_  good food the rest of the week."

"Oh yeah, definitely, definitely." Hunk nodded vigorously in agreement while Pidge, perhaps unintentionally, released a sigh that was all too relieved given that she was usually more annoyed by Lance's presence than grateful for it.

"And there's no tree nuts involved, right?" Lance asked.

"No!" Both Pidge and Hunk said simultaneously, which had Lance laughing. It felt good to laugh, and to mean it.

It felt good to be with his friends again.

Some of his friends anyway. Despite the good humor put forth by Hunk and Pidge as they made their way to the kitchen, Lance became more and more aware of the empty air beside him. He sat at the counter while Pidge and Hunk hooked their computer up to the goo receptacle, humorous banter going back and forth between them. So the air definitely  _wasn't_  empty, but Lance knew it was off balance.

Since when had Keith being at his side become a regular thing, and why hadn't he noticed it before?

Because that was normal, wasn't it? Hunk was his best friend, but they honestly didn't have a whole lot in common. So whenever Pidge and Hunk were geeking out, or running off to do their science projects, he and Keith were left together—side by side. Like it was just… natural for them to be so. They couldn't do the science stuff and they weren't caught up in the technical details like Allura and Shiro.

Had Lance always gravitated toward Keith, or had it been the other way around?

If it weren't for the mess they were in, Keith would be there then. He'd have gone with them to the kitchen, despite griping about how the food goo was fine, or that Lance tasting it all was a bad idea, or that they were wasting time. But he'd have stayed, at least for a little while, to watch Lance torture himself through his taste buds, inevitably for them to break down into some stupid argument that resulted in Keith tasting it too, becoming irate at how bad it was, and stomping off in righteous irritation.

That was how they did things.

But he wasn't there…

"Hey, uh, are- are you okay?" It was Pidge's voice that interrupted his thoughts, pulling him back to reality. She'd sidled close to the counter, her fingers tapping together as she looked up at him. Hunk was halfway falling into the goo machine, likely hooking up whatever connections were necessary.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I'm fine," Lance lied, hoping his smile came off as real as those from earlier. "Just… thinking."

Pidge bit the inside of her cheek, her gaze drifting to the empty spot beside Lance before snapping too quickly back to his own.

"Do you… want me to go get Keith?" she asked, tone timid.

Her question had Hunk flailing back out of the machine and knocking his head on the top panel. He yelled out in alarm, drawing all attention his way as he backed out of the receptacle. Face contorted in pain, he turned to face both of them as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Keith wouldn't be into this kind of thing," he said through his pain, words a little too rushed.

"No, he probably would," Lance countered. "Even if he  _pretended_  like he didn't. But… he's not here. And- And I don't want to bother him, so let's just… leave him out of it." He didn't mean to cringe, but knew the others saw it anyway. Staring down at the counter, he drew his pointer finger in small circles and tried not to get too down. If that was even possible, given the shittiness of  _everything_.

No, he was hanging out with Hunk and Pidge, and he liked hanging out with them. He felt better in those moments than he had in over a week.

It wasn't perfect, but it was something. It was "getting there."

"So where's this flavored goo, huh?" he asked, making sure to add a dramatic edge to his voice despite the less than stellar change of subject. "Bring it!" Sitting up straighter, he crossed his arms over his chest and cast Pidge a challenging glare.

She faltered for a second, but then grinned. "You're going to regret this."

"I certainly hope so!"

Hunk frowned. "I don't! I want this program to actually work!"

But it didn't, not at first, and there was much gagging and dry-heaving to be had on Lance's part before it reached tastes that were equally tolerable to the original goo. A few might have been better toward the end of their experiments, but the program as it was seemed more intent on making everything worse.

"Well, it's the thought that counts I guess," Hunk sighed, somewhat dejected as he hung his head.

"Yeah, tell that to my tongue!" Lance rebuked, wiping at it with his sleeve a moment later. He had remnants of a taste between rock dust and earwax stuck across the whole surface.

"Hey, it might have started out bad, but we learned a lot," Pidge defended as she pushed her glasses up on her nose.

"So my suffering wasn't pointless, then?" Lance asked bitterly.

"Nope! We'll definitely be able to make progress for next time with these results."

" _Next_  time?" Lanced moaned.

"Well yeah." Pidge cast him a critical eye. "We got this far. We can't just give up because the program was wrong. A little trial and error and we'll have pudding flavored goo!"

"Pudding every day, Lance!" Hunk said happily. "But with all the health benefits of goo!"

"Pudding every day, huh?" Lance asked. "I guess it's worth trying again if that's what we'll get. I wouldn't mind pudding every day. Even if I do have to deal with all your messed up flavors first."

"With everything good, there always comes some bad too," Pidge replied easily, sounding rather distracted as she stared down at her computer. "That's just life."

"Yeah…" Lance huffed a bit. "I guess it is." She'd know, wouldn't she? Despite everything, she was still looking for her brother. She was still trying. With what little she had, she was still  _looking_.

"Well, I'm pretty tired." Stretching, Lance raised his arms up above his head before allowing his neck to crack one way and then another. "I think I'm gonna turn in."

"Oh, okay." Hunk straightened abruptly. "Are you, uh… coming to breakfast tomorrow?"

Lance paused in his stretching, aware that both of them were watching him now. "Uh, y-yeah, sure. Of course." He waved it off, like their question was silly or unwarranted. But neither of them seemed to mind. Rather, they appeared overly relieved. "Wouldn't miss it."

"Sweet!" Hunk smiled wide. "See you in the morning."

They said short goodnights following, Lance thankful—despite the good time he'd had—to be going back to his room. He was tired, even if he didn't want to be. But the day had been... good. Hectic at first, but good.

Not everything could last, however. Rounding the corner into the hall where their rooms were, Lance came to an abrupt stop, a shock running through his whole system when his gaze snagged on Keith's. The other boy appeared equally startled, dark eyes blinking stupidly, as if to mirror Lance's own.

He'd just left his quarters—the room right next to Lance's own—and had his bayard in hand. Likely, he was headed to the training room.

Lance didn't know what to do, let alone what to say. Facing Keith this way, alone and so directly, had a pile of emotions cascading inside him that he couldn't possibly have expected. Excitement that had nowhere to go, expectation rooted in habit, desire for an intimacy they hadn't shared in what seemed like an eternity. But also nerves that twisted his gut so severely that he nearly sidestepped with nausea, and a low, pulsating kind of hurt that seemed to weigh on the bottom of his lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

The betrayal too, which was like a slashing blade across his chest before it evaporated. An echo. Present, but fading.

The silence stretched. The seconds felt like hours.

Until Keith, as though he'd been slapped across the face, turned away. His whole posture seemed to hunch in on itself, lips pulling into an anguished grimace as he tried to hide his face behind his bangs. But he didn't succeed. Lance still saw the rapid way his lashes fluttered. He heard the tremble in his breath and saw how his free hand shook at his side. Until it came up to cover his mouth, as if he needed to conceal his distress further.

He turned abruptly away, Lance yet frozen as Keith marched swiftly down the hall in the opposite direction. It wasn't until he'd vanished around the corner that Lance really registered the numbness fading from his limbs.

Taking a shaky breath of his own, he reaching up and gripped the front of his shirt with his fist, before stepping to the side so he could lean against the wall.

He hadn't been prepared to see Keith, not like that. Not without the safe barrier they'd knowingly put up between each other. It was like walking around the corner into a spiked wall. It'd run the breath right out of him.

It was hard to tell which was worse—the sick, out of key feeling that wanted to pull angry tears from his eyes, or the guilt at the agony that had seemed to coat every small move Keith had made.

He'd been… Had he been crying? Was he okay?

Part of Lance wanted to run after him, but another part of him that was yet stronger was too afraid to do so. If he did, then wouldn't he just be opening himself up to be hurt all over again?

He knew Keith hadn't done "it" on purpose. And to a certain extent, he could rationalize that he would likely never do anything like what he had ever again. But some defensive instinct was still jumpy, still ready to lash out, and Lance wasn't yet prepared to temper it.

But, for however strong that instinct was, the longing that slowly began to descend upon him drowned it out. Until it was just a wary thrum, ready to leap out at a second's notice, but hiding beneath the churning storm clouds of Lance's hunger.

He wasn't ready to run after Keith, but he still wanted him there. He wanted Keith without everything that had happened between them. Which wasn't possible, he knew, but it didn't ease the ache that threatened to jerk his own tears to the surface.

He wanted Keith in his room. He wanted Keith back in his bed. He wanted Keith there when he woke up and he wanted Keith's leathery voice in his ear. He wanted Keith's nightmares and he wanted Keith's unnecessary concern. He wanted his weight while they slept and his soft hair through his fingers. He wanted Keith's pushy determination and his short attitude. He wanted Keith's adorable confusion and his soft understanding.

He wanted  _Keith_.

But the giant chasm of what he'd done made it hurt too.

Lance's exhaustion begged for Keith to be there, but also demanded he push him away.

Every second was misery.

But he was used to misery by that point, or at least acclimated to it for the time being. He remained leaning upon the wall for some moments, steadying his breath and gathering his bearings. Part of him wanted to sink to the floor, curl up in a ball, and not move. Just let the shadowy clouds surround him as they seemed to have been doing for weeks.

But his bedroom was only a few yards away. He could make it.

Determined, he pushed himself upward and took a deep, sighing breath. It was a small thing, simply heading down the hall, but it seemed like the hardest thing in the world after the blow he'd just suffered.

Dragging his feet forward, he eyed his door, feeling more and more capable the further he moved. And as he was just about to activate the doors—allowing him the sweet, if not bitter, release of rest—his full attention was yanked to the floor.

There, beside Keith's door yet further off, something sparkled.

Lance paused, his inherent curiosity warring abruptly with his exhaustion.

But it was only a little way off. He'd made it through the day—he'd battled slavers, seen his friends, even made eye contact with Keith without completely buckling.

Jaw tightening, he dragged his feet a little further. Until he was crouching down in front of Keith's door.

There, on the floor, was one of the recording pins Allura had given them some time ago. To record their personal journals, should they feel inclined to do so.

Logically, this one had to belong to Keith. Unless someone else had dropped theirs in the hall, which was viable, he supposed. But it was just outside Keith's door…

Should he leave it, or…?

If he did, there was a chance someone else would pick it up, and if it was Keith's—and he'd been  _using_  it—then there could be some pretty personal stuff on there. Which… Lance was probably not entitled to, despite everything. But that was better than someone else finding it, right?

No, it wasn't. They were a team and no matter the personal contents, they could all be trusted with such things.

Still, he picked it up anyway.

Maybe it wasn't even Keith's…

A little too paranoid to linger, Lance turned and headed back to his own room, no hesitation as he quietly slipped inside. Locking his door, he paused just inside the doorway to look down at the pin. Eyebrows pulling closer, he stared at it for far longer than he should have, before he shook his head and placed it on the dresser.

Pretending to ignore it, he pulled out his blue night clothes, slipped them on, and further distracted himself with his evening routine in the bathroom. All of which ate up about twenty-seven minutes before he was back at his dresser, this time glaring at the seemingly innocuous pin.

Rolling his eyes at himself, he picked it up before going to his bed. Sitting down, he hunched over the edge and handled the pin from one hand to the other—as if that would somehow tell him whose it was.

"I have to at least figure out who it belongs to," he reasoned with himself, as if that justified prying. He knew perfectly well who's it probably was, and he also knew he was giving into both invasive curiosity as well as certain degree of pettiness by deciding to investigate.

But he could stop it once he saw the face on the other side.

Which he would  _definitely_  do.

Frowning, he made the final decision and pressed the center of the pin. He held it down, which—instead of turning on the recording option—eventually opened a holographic screen that displayed the contents.

According to the database, there were three recordings. Only the star date labeled them, nothing else left to hint at who had done the recording.

Lance paused for only a second before reaching up and clicking on the first link.

And though he  _knew_  it was Keith's pin, he was surprised anyway when it was Keith's face that filled the holographic screen.

He had his eyes narrowed, quite as though he didn't trust the very device he was willingly using.

That was enough. Lance knew who it belonged to. He should quit before Keith had the chance to say anything. Just… turn it off.

But he didn't. Though seeing Keith's face sent cracks shooting through his heart, it was also… spilling butterflies into his stomach.

He missed Keith. He missed him  _so much_.

"I don't really know what we're supposed to say to this… thing." The first sentence out of Keith's mouth.

Of course that was the first thing Keith would say.

"Some kind of catalog of what we do when we're not in our suits, I guess," he continued uncertainly, before looking shyly around the room. "Shiro said that after I meet with Coran and Allura, I might have to talk to someone. About my nightmares and stuff.

"Because I have nightmares," he clarified. "About Lance. About Lance dying. And my brain can't seem to let the whole thing go."

He sighed, clearly frustrated, before releasing the pin. Momentary surprise flittered across his expression, apparently at the pin's ability to remain airborne—a fact Lance was long aware of.

"Well that's convenient," he muttered, voice nearly inaudible.

Lance should stop this. He should stop watching.

But he didn't.

"So that's the thing I guess," Keith eventually continued. "I have to get this whole thing figured out. Which only seems reasonable since Lance… Because of what I did to him." He stared down at his hands, rubbing his fingers against his pant legs. "I kind of wish I could talk to Lance about this, that he could, like, be my person or whatever—since he already knows—but that probably won't happen."

An expression of purse anguish overcame him, which pulled painfully at Lance's chest. "I really screwed up," he admitted quietly. "I didn't mean to hurt Lance, I just… didn't know what to do. And I was scared. Which doesn't justify any of it. I know that. But it was kind of nice, having Lance actually like me for a little while. If that was what was happening, or whatever.

"Shiro says he'll forgive me." He shrugged, looking quite as though he didn't believe the very words he spoke. "But even if he does—which I don't see how he could—I don't think… I don't think he'll ever trust me again. Which isn't his fault. I blew the one secret he didn't want me to, so I guess not trusting me is reasonable." He spoke as though such things were completely rational, but Lance knew what hurt looked like in Keith's movements now. Seeing it hurt him too.

"I don't want to defend what I did—I know I messed up. And I know there's no undoing it. But I just… wish he knew that I didn't mean to do it like that. Or to break his trust. I haven't really had friends before, other than Shiro, but I like to think that if I did, I wouldn't be the kind of person that would go spilling other people's secrets. Gossip has always seemed stupid to me, and even if people did tell me their secrets, I don't see why I'd get any satisfaction out of telling anyone else." He laughed bitterly. "I think I'd be satisfied just having a few secrets, because no one's ever told me any secrets except… except Lance. And Shiro I guess. But Shiro's my brother, so I feel like that's not really the same thing…"

Despite the betrayal that thrummed through him, Lance knew these things. He  _knew_  Keith hadn't meant to hurt him. He knew…

"Of course, it'd figure that the one time I had a friend who did tell me something, I'd screw it up and tell the entire ship. I was letting my own fear control me, I know that now. I was… was scared of what Lance was dealing with, and how it might hurt him. I never  _wanted_  to hurt him, so I guess I didn't think it was possible that I would.

"I didn't mean to be selfish. I never… mean to be." He stared off to the side for a few moments, lips tight as his eyebrows furrowed. "But maybe I am. I was more afraid of losing Lance than I was of what my actions would do to him. I can't believe I didn't even think about how  _he'd_  feel after what I did. Shiro says that we're all different and that me not being good with people is a part of me that everyone accepts. Or something.

"But I'm not good at knowing what other people feel either. I don't even consider other people's feeling most of the time. It's easier, I guess, just… doing what has to be done and supposing that if someone is bothered, it's worth what's gained. But I guess that doesn't always work. It's probably better if I don't help people at all when it comes to that kind of thing—I don't know how and I should have known better."

He said as much so bitterly, as though berating himself. Which had Lance's lips parting helplessly. He wasn't sure he looked at the current situation as some kind of "lesson learned" circumstance, but if it had to be, then that wasn't the lesson he wanted Keith to take away from it. If someone needed help, then… then Keith should help them. Maybe his methods were off, but he hadn't been…

He hadn't been wrong. Lance had needed help—he'd just been unwilling to accept as much.

"I shouldn't have said anything. Just because I know something doesn't mean it's my business.

"Lance trusted me and I… blew it."

A soft whine escaped Lance's throat at how upset he sounded.

"I wish he knew how sorry I am," he went on, sounding as though he'd break out into tears at any moment. "I wish…"

Yet, then his expression abruptly hardened, hiding everything. "But I guess that's a pointless thing to do. Maybe I did get caught up in the romance of it all, like Shiro said. But real life isn't like that. There's no point in wishing I guess. That's not going to solve anything."

He growled in frustration. "Whatever." The recording ended a second later.

The hologram returned to the link screen, Lance sitting in silence as his emotions roiled violently inside him yet again. No matter their intensity, however, Lance didn't know what to do to deal with them. So, instead, he raised his hand and placed a shaky finger against the second link. As if getting through all the recordings would offer some kind of solace from the nausea accumulating in the base of his gut and in the back of his head.

Keith was lying in bed this time, long hair splayed about his face and across his pillow as he stared up at the pin. He looked tired, which had Lance's concern coming to the forefront for multiple reasons.

"I don't really know why I'm recording this," he admitted weakly, reaching up with his palm to rub at his eye, as though he'd just woken up. "But I guess it's kind of like talking to another person."

He sighed miserably. "I had a nightmare. But that's not exactly a surprise at this point. And I guess I've gotten… too used to having Lance beside me when I do." His breath shook, his eyes blinking a little too quickly. "But it could be worse. I think the medication Allura and Coran gave me is working. Or the sleeping agent has me so tired that my anxieties are tired too. Which is better than the stuff they gave me when Lance was still in the cryopod."

He turned his head to the side, eyelids drooping. "But I still wish Lance was here," he whispered, his voice as tight and tense as a taut rubber band. "Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with the nightmares." He blinked again, but this time it didn't keep the emotion at bay. A few tears dropped from beneath his lashes, leaving salty trails down his cheeks that seemed to mirror scars down Lance's chest. "I just m-miss him so much…" His breath caught, the sound like a fishhook catching in Lance's lungs. "I don't even know if h-he's okay. It's been days. I can't…"

Teeth gritted, he lay in bed a few seconds longer and struggled, still crying, before a light sob escaped his lips and the recording ended.

Lance sat gaping and chilled, uncertain what to feel. Or rather,  _how_  to feel.

The last recording was from that very day and Lance barely had the resolve to keep going. But he also didn't know what he'd do if he didn't.

The wall of Keith's bedroom dropped into the background, his expression down and tired. And  _defeated_.

He didn't say anything for many long seconds, gaze directed at the floor. When he did finally speak, Lance's heart nearly jumped up his throat.

"He didn't say one word to me today," he started, tone controlled and flat. "I don't think he even looked at me." Which was… not entirely true. But Lance certainly hadn't looked at him at any time that Keith had been looking back, with the exception of the accident out in the hall. And he wasn't sure of he felt guilty about it or not. Or if he felt anything at all.

"Which… I guess I kind of expected," Keith went on. "Well, I don't really know what I expected, but I guess I'm not  _surprised_." He huffed, seeming to fidget some. He still avoided looking at the camera. "Maybe I'm just… disappointed. Not in Lance. Just… Everything always seems to work out… badly. My mom leaving, my dad dying. Shiro disappearing. Foster parents sucking. Getting kicked out the garrison. This whole… stupid war, even if it meant finding Shiro again, and losing him again, and- Whatever! I'm glad I found him, obviously, but it could have been under better circumstances…"

Was he really comparing what had happened between them, him and Lance, to all those terrible things? Of course Lance agreed that what Keith had done was bad, from his perspective specifically, but all those tragic events seemed, to Lance, to be on a completely different plane of understanding.

Unless… Had Keith accepted that there was no chance at the two of them finding friendship again? Or, rather, resigned himself to the fact? And if so, did he… did he really view their relationship as being equal to that of the many people he'd already lost?

Was Lance really that important to him?

"None of it really matter though, in the end," he muttered, shrinking some inside his shoulders. "Not like I didn't expect to end up alone eventually. Even Shiro, he'll… he'll give up on me someday. It's just a matter of time.

"I'm probably better off alone. At least then I can't… hurt anyone. I'm… bad. Bad for other people. I just… mess everything up. Every time."

There was an extended pause before the feed cut out, leaving Lance completely and utterly without any conclusion to anything he'd just witnessed. Not a conclusion he could be satisfied with, anyway. But, really, it'd been selfish to expect any different. None of Keith's problems could be magically cured by some short-lived vlogs, as if they'd been presented in episodic fashion. Just as Lance's couldn't.

But it made him angry. Angry at Keith and himself. Angry because he wasn't ready to deal with the things he'd just seen and angry because a big, huge part of him wanted to. He was angry that Keith had said the things he'd said and angry at himself because none of these things had ever been intended for his consumption. Keith wasn't trying to make him feel guilty, or use his situation to bring pity on himself. He'd confessed to a camera, a  _bloody camera_ , instead of a real person, because he was so damn concerned with not bothering anyone. Maybe, if they weren't as they were, Keith would have told such things to him, Lance. They'd almost been there, hadn't they? But now, nothing. And Lance was angry at himself for ruining that "nothing" because it made him feel so, so much worse. He wished he'd never watched the vlogs, as he'd known he shouldn't from the start.

But though part of him had done so out of curiosity and pettiness, selfishness had also played a part. He'd wanted to see Keith. And having done so, he'd not only proven how much he, Lance, really cared—because he really, really did—but also how little regret he felt at partaking as he had.

He wished he hadn't, but didn't regret it.

Because now, no matter how much it hurt, he knew just how badly Keith was hurting too, and it made this whole thing so incredibly stupid. They were hurting each other, the both of them were so hurt that they couldn't do anything to fix it.

But worst of all? Those vlogs, which had never been any of Lance's business, proved just how alike they were.

And Lance hated Keith for that.

But… he also kind of loved him too.

Folding the pin up into his fist, Lance pulled himself fully onto the bed before curling up. Holding the pin close to his chest, he closed his eyes and tried not to imagine that Keith was there. He tried not to hear his voice, or feel his familiar heat.

He tried not to do all of these things, which, of course, made it so he was doing exactly the opposite.

But maybe that was the whole point in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I'd update this on the 12th and then forgot, lol. Oops. 
> 
> Anyway, soooooooo... bad news. I didn't get the scholarship funds I'd been hoping to get for my study abroad next semester, so I'll probably be working two jobs as a result. Which means that, uh... I won't have time to write. I'd originally had this plan to update monthly, but that's just not going to be possible. I'll try and update this whenever I can, but I might not have much writing time until March. 
> 
> We'll see. Sigh...


	15. Chapter 15

It'd been a week since Lance had rejoined the team fully and during that whole time, Keith hadn't said a single word to him. Nor had Lance said a thing to him. Which put them on two weeks since the camel's back had broken.

Most of their training had been kept inside the castle, all of them working through bonding exercises that neither Keith nor Lance were forced to work together during. Voltron training, as in forming the robot itself, hadn't been attempted. It seemed everyone was in agreement that it'd likely be impossible, all things considered.

Everyone, even Pidge, knew something was wrong, yet it was never acknowledged outright. Which drove Keith crazy, of course, because he hated dancing around things. But he also knew full well that he couldn't approach Lance to do anything about it. It wasn't his place to try and speed up Lance's acceptance of him.

He did wonder how long they could keep on like this, however. They had to be able to form Voltron. Whether Allura and Shiro were being sensitive to the team's needs or not—even for the sake of a  _better_  team—they were still at war. And war waited for no one. Even Keith could tell that, the longer the team went on in such a state, the more nervous Allura became.

"Okay, so you all need close-combat practice," Allura was saying, the paladins gathered around the edges of the training area. "No matter your bayard's form, this cannot be avoided. Therefore, Keith and Shiro will be leading the exercises today."

Standard form as of late—working on things that, true, the team needed work with, but that would have been put on the backburner were they capable of more important training. Not to say the ability to fight in close combat  _wasn't_  important, but Voltron training might have taken precedence had Voltron been possible.

Keith ended up working with Hunk, while Shiro worked with Lance. Pidge—though she wasn't nearly as good as Keith or Shiro—flitted between, her bayard granting her more experience than either their long-range attackers possessed.

The point was to simulate battle using what they'd already have at their disposal, and so it was up to Keith to teach Hunk how to use his bayard at close range. Not so much as a weapon itself, but mostly as defense. Hunk did have an advantage in being able to throw his weight around. And so though Keith advised him to remain generally defensive, when the opportunity arose, he should feel comfortable going for the offensive. He didn't have a blade or a robotic arm, but his canon would do well in knocking someone across the room if he bashed them hard enough.

The lessons went slowly—Hunk wasn't very receptive to Keith's teaching methods. He wasn't supportive and Hunk required a great deal more explanation to feel comfortable. Which would have worked fine with Shiro seeing as that was generally how he approached lessons. Go slowly and explain as you went. Whereas Keith was more the "this is what I'm gonna do, now make sure you're thinking enough on your feet to block me." He didn't go slowly, though he tried, and both he and Hunk generally ended up frustrated at some point.

It wasn't that they couldn't work well together, they just didn't practice well together. Which had Keith missing Lance all the more. Before, when they'd done these kinds of team-building exercises, Keith had generally ended up paired with Lance, barring that he and Shiro weren't together (but they really only partnered up when working on their more advanced close-combat). Lance was a fast learner and though he usually ended up knocked on his ass before he got the idea, he didn't flinch away every time Keith knocked into him. And he didn't require a tutorial every time they considered a different technique. Generally speaking, Keith and Lance hardly said anything to each other when practicing close-quarters combat. Unless Keith saw something that Lance needed to correct.

It might have been rooted in initial dislike for one another, but it worked.

"The Galra aren't going to stop and explain to you what they're about to do," Keith was saying, being very careful not to sound irritated.

"I know…" Hunk was frowning, Pidge crossing her arms beside him. "But can't we do some repetitive exercises like- like Lance and Shiro are doing?"

A question that pulled a sigh from Keith. Barely turning, he watched Lance and Shiro for a moment. They were moving swiftly, but the exercises they were doing were based on habitual movements that, frankly, Lance already knew. Keith  _knew_  he knew them. While Shiro was a great teacher for technique, Lance didn't need that. Sure, the repetitive tasks were helpful, especially in developing reflexes that would feel more natural, but Lance would make far more progress were he against an opponent that provided him a more realistic experience.

Lance learned  _fast_  on the field—he didn't need as much repetition as others. Not in the organized fashion that Shiro was taking him through. Lance was moving through the movements without even a bit of hesitation. Sure, he might be able to polish some of those moves, but he could do that against a more active opponent too.

Keith wasn't being critical of Shiro's teaching—Keith needed those kinds of exercises too, though in a more advanced fashion—but he was taking Lance through it too slowly. He'd get bored soon, and then he would start slipping up.

He wanted to tell Shiro that he needed to start sparring with Lance, but held his tongue. Shiro was always hesitant to spar with anyone aside from Keith or Allura, and even then Keith could tell he held back. He was afraid of hurting them, both physically and emotionally.

"Yeah, we can do more exercises," Keith finally decided, supposing he'd just have to settle for being as bored as Lance probably was with what they were doing. Not that he had anyone but himself to blame. "Let's start with-"

"Okay, that's enough!" Allura's voice cut through everything, everyone turning to where she stood at the edge of the practice area. She was holding one of her long staves, which was a new and surprising edition. Generally, Allura only ever sparred with Shiro. "We're going to have our two teams face off against one another." Staff in hand, she made her way over to them. "Pidge, you'll be on Shiro and Lance's team. I'll join Hunk and Keith." She smiled between them all and Keith wondered if she realized just how much he  _didn't_  want to do this.

But maybe if he just focused on Shiro, everything would be alright.

"The goal here is to fight as a  _team_ ," she lectured. "So don't just break off into pairs. Assume that your opponents pose a true threat to those on your team and gauge what actions you take based on that variable." Spreading her feet wide, she held her staff at the ready, which had everyone else scrambling into position.

Coran's voice boomed against them, Keith already settling into a combat-necessary mindset. "Begin!"

Purely based on weapon and posture, Keith singled Shiro out—naturally—as the biggest threat and so sprinted toward him right from the get-go. Which Shiro likely expected. His robotic arm began to glow while he finally summoned his bayard from his suit. It transformed around his arm, forming deadly, glowing armor up past his elbow while the bayard itself—though still gripped in his hand—flashed into sharpened claws that spiked forward from his knuckles and glowed with the same lethal intensity as his prosthetic.

But it was nothing Keith hadn't sparred against before.

They met with a hard blow, Keith swinging his sword with ease and experience while Shiro blocked and parried in the same attitude. The swipes were hard, and would have been deadly to someone who didn't see them coming, but Keith wouldn't do Shiro the disservice of assuming he wouldn't see obvious blows coming a mile away.

"Don't forget," Shiro said between hits, "that this is a  _team_  exercise."

Which Keith  _did_  remember. He could see Allura and Hunk facing off together against Lance and Pidge.

"I know my team well enough," Keith said between huffing movements, "to know that Allura can handle those two as long as I keep  _you_  distracted." He brought his sword down harshly, forcing Shiro to jump back before coming back under with his clawed hand.

On the other side of the room, Pidge went abruptly flying into the wall before collapsing with a thump onto her rear. Likely Allura had tossed her aside with her staff (or bare hands, who knew), because a moment later, Allura was barreling toward  _them_ , Shiro's jaw tightening as he prepared himself for two opponents.

Allura came in swinging, Keith watching her a moment before adjusting to her movements. He'd never fought alongside her before, but it didn't take long before the two of them had Shiro completely on the defensive (which very rarely happened, given how aggressively offensive he was known to be).

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith spotted the yellow blur that was Hunk topple backwards, and he might have ducked out to help him had he and Allura not put Shiro so far on the fence that they were nearly able to call a defeat over him.

But maybe that was the wrong call? Lance… Lance could probably take Hunk out at close range no problem, so long as he avoided becoming victim to Hunk's one-hit knock outs. So if this was real, would he be leaving Hunk to die right now, or was taking the few seconds to remove the biggest threat more his priority?

He should be going to help Hunk—Allura could keep Shiro where he was. That was the best decision to make given the state of his team.

This was a  _team_  exercise.

But the moment he'd taken to come to such a conclusion was a moment too slow. Not for Hunk, but for himself. He should have known that Lance would never have to think about which was more important—taking out the enemy or saving a teammate. He'd knocked Hunk down, sure, but a flash of blue was coming to Shiro's aid a second later.

He cut into their group, swinging his rifle around to parry the blow Allura had had aimed at Shiro while bending down on one knee in the same moment. His free leg was more than long enough to knock Keith in the calves as he twisted around, Keith tripping and falling back onto his butt. He had quick reflexes and bounced back into standing just as Allura was recovered enough to once again bring her staff out to strike at Shiro. Yet Keith could do nothing to help her, as Lance was jumping right at him.

Teeth gritting, Keith parried Lance's striking rifle blow with a well-aimed swing of his sword, sending Lance twisting to the right. Which should have given Keith a momentary opening. But instead of stumbling to the side—as Keith had expected—Lance used the momentum Keith's hit had forced upon him to spin around completely. Arm folded, he swung his elbow up before coming down  _hard_  while Keith was still recovering from his down-swing.

The cracking blow landed directly across the front of Keith's helmet, the harsh "thwack" echoing loudly around the training room and causing Keith to fumble backwards onto his back.

Though he was dazed and somewhat surprised, Keith immediately took advantage of the force of the blow to roll back completely and onto his feet.

Scowling, he glared at Lance through his visor.

Which was cracked.

Lance had hit him so hard he'd cracked his helmet. Which was, frankly, a hard feat to accomplish. Their armor wasn't easily damaged. And they definitely weren't supposed to hit that hard during practice.

Growling and angry, but maybe mostly frustrated, Keith pulled his blade back and ran at Lance with the full intention of delivering a hit just at brutal. He wanted to play that way? Fine!

And maybe, if Lance had seemed the least bit surprised or regretful when their gazes had met through their visors, Keith would have let the whole thing go. But his expression was blank, empty, and he had his gun raised threateningly.

So Keith's temper took over.

Releasing an aggravated yell, Keith swiped his blade around to strike Lance in the side, which was blocked by the rifle Lance brought down to parry it. And so Keith bounced back against it and spun on his toes to swing the blade even harder around to Lance's other side.

But Lance was already ducking, long legs once again coming out to trip Keith from below. And so Keith used the speed of his previous attack to keep spinning, jumping from the ground just as Lance's foot was about to collide before flipping forward over Lance entirely.

Landing with sure-footing, he twisted and swung, body stretching and allowing him to strike low enough to catch Lance at his grounded position. Which had Lance bending back at the hips, Keith's blade missing his helmet by only centimeters. His knees folded his legs beneath him, whole body lying flat as a result of having to avoid Keith's swing. Which Keith took advantage of a second later, pulling himself forward and summoning his bayard to his other hand so as to bring it down.

What he hadn't expected was that, instead of rolling out of the way, Lance took the riskier route of pulling his legs up as Keith's sword came down. The tip of his blade was at Lance's breastplate just as his feet came up and lambasted Keith hard in the abdomen. But he didn't just kick Keith back with the full force of his legs. He reached up and grabbed him by the shoulders in the same moment, so Keith remained in place for only a second longer. A second that Lance took to shift their momentum so that Keith was being tossed back over Lance's head instead of from the way he'd come. He'd used his kick to cause the blow and his pull to direct it.

Keith went flying before landing harshly on his back, the breath knocked out of him.

This wasn't the way Lance usually fought. He was a long-range wielder. He only fought up close when he had to and was more likely to take the move that would give him as much distance between himself and his opponent as possible. He was sneaky and came at attackers from their sides.

He didn't fight this directly. Or with so much…

Violence.

The change only made Keith  _angrier_.

The rest of the team had gasped when Keith had landed, but neither he nor Lance seemed to hear them. Nor did they register Hunk's whispered, "oh my god, they're going to kill each other."

Rolling deftly to his feet, Keith turned just in time for Lance's rifle to be coming down toward his head. Reaching up with his free hand, he grabbed Lance by the edge of the armor on his forearm before yanking him around and off-balance. He then used all his strength to throw him aside.

Lance stumbled, his back remaining open long enough for Keith to knock his armor with his blade so he fell harshly to his knees.

He cut through the suit beneath the armor, a thin stream of Lance's blood splattering from the edge of Keith's sword.

Lance immediately rolled onto his back before jumped to his feet using only his core, so as to keep his arms free. A quick learner he was. He surged right up into Keith's personal space. Right past his swinging blade, before he grabbed Keith by his neck armor in much the same way Keith had previously grabbed his arm before dragging him around.

Keith hadn't realized how close they were to the wall, and so he didn't have time to react to what Lance did next. He didn't release as Keith had, so as to send him stumbling. No, he held on, causing Keith's whole body slight whiplash as he was yanked back and hurled face-first into the wall.

He collided hard. Very,  _very_  hard.

So hard that, as he stumbled back, he had to blink a few times before he realized that the reason his vision was skewed as because his visor was further cracked. Not broken, but enough so that it impaired his ability to see properly.

Growling, he whipped back around on Lance before reaching up and ripping his helmet from his head. Chucking it aside, he ignored Shiro's "Hey! That's enough!" in favor of rushing Lance yet again.

He didn't hold back, swinging down with the full, if not rash and misguided, intention of slashing Lance down across his face. The tip of his blade nicked the top of Lance's visor as he ducked hastily back out of the way, Keith wasting no time in coming up from his swing in order to sprint and slam a harsh shoulder into Lance's stomach.

The body slam thrust Lance back, causing him to topple onto his back. There was just enough time for Keith to take another swing at him, which did force Lance to roll out of the way this time. And so Keith kept swinging, putting Lance on the defensive.

If there was a smear of blood left on the training room floor every time Lance rolled onto his back, Keith ignored it.

"Keith! Lance!" Allura yelled.

He ignored that too.

Forced onto the outer perimeter of Keith's blade, Lance actually rolled onto his knees, took aim, and fired.

Keith's shield came to him immediately and blocked the blow, but that didn't change the fact that Lance had actually  _shot_  at him. The hit wouldn't have been fatal, but that wasn't the point.

If there was a point to any of this at all.

"Lance!" Shiro shouted in alarm.

Keith was on him, yelling as he speared his blade forward to stab Lance directly under his breastplate.

"Keith, enough!" Coran's voice echoed around the room.

Lance used his rifle to block the blow, the parry acting as much like an attack as it did a defense that sent Keith's arm rebounding backward. He stumbled a step, aware of Lance's blank expression behind his visor.

Which only served to anger Keith further.

Not that it mattered.

He wasn't sure what Lance was doing, arcing his gun around as though to smack him with it. He was out of range.  _Far_  out of range. Lance would miss.

And maybe, if Keith hadn't been blinded by his temper, he might have been able to digest what happened next fast enough to block it.

Flashing, Lance's whole bayard ignited, the shape warping.

By the time Keith's eyes were able to recover from the surprising brightness, Lance's blue-plated spear was lambasting him in the side. So hard and with so much momentum, and perhaps with some kind of momentary bonus from the new transformation, that Keith was thrown into the wall nearby.

His neck snapped back, head colliding with the wall. A painful crack seemed to echo through his whole skull before the room flashed and then turned dark.

He must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, someone was calling his name. Someone close. So close that, with the ringing, it hurt as though the speaker were yelling directly into his ears.

"Keith! Keith, oh my god, wake up! Keith!" He tried to open his eyes, but all he could do was roll them behind their lids. "Keith, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hit you that hard! Keith, c'mon!"

"Lance, be careful!" Shiro? "Don't move his head!"

"Jesus Christ, Keith! Don't die! I didn't mean it!" And that voice, the one so close, was… It was Lance. "Keith, I'm so sorry! Please,  _please_  wake up!"

 _Lance_.

Finally, Keith found the strength to open his eyes. His lashes fluttered some, but he managed to keep them open after a few second's efforts. And as he rolled his eyes around to get a look at the shadow cast over him, his blurry vision eventually cleared into blue eyes.

Blue eyes with brows that were creased with worry and a face that Keith was embarrassed to admit was a little too overwhelmingly beautiful to have so close after two weeks of being avoided.

"Oh thank god, Keith," Lance murmured, his hand coming up to lay gently along Keith's cheek. "Holy shit, you scared me."

"Keith!" Shiro was beside him a second later, crouching down at his side and forcing Lance to scoot a bit out of the way. He must have only been unconscious for a moment.

"I'm alright," Keith managed to say, despite how everything around him started to spin. "Just… hit my head, I guess." He tried to sit up, but Shiro held him firmly down by the shoulders.

"Don't move," he commanded. "We don't know if you have neck damage."

"I get thrown around worse fighting Galra," Keith defended weakly. "I'm  _fine_."

"Just listen to Shiro!" Lance spit harshly, though there was an audible tremble in his words.

"You're also usually wearing a helmet," Shiro countered, just as Allura and Coran came rushing up with a levitating gurney. "And even if that's true, better to be safe than sorry when we can afford to be."

Keith wanted to rebuke that he hadn't had a helmet during the Marmora trials, but ultimately supposed that Shiro had a point. That, and his head was swimming too much for him to find the energy to argue.

"Be careful as you lift him," Allura advised as Shiro reached around to carefully heft him up under his shoulders. "I'll hold his head." Which she did, from the side, while Lance lifted his legs.

His legs, which… Keith couldn't feel his legs.

Oh shit, he couldn't  _feel_  his  _legs_.

Panic rose up inside him swift enough to stifle him speechless, his eyes widening as he was gingerly placed upon the gurney. And as he caught Lance's worried gaze again, he had half a mind not to say anything about it at all. If only to spare Lance further concern on his behalf.

But he also knew that this wasn't the kind of thing to mess around with and that the others would want to know. That they  _needed_  to know.

"Shiro," he managed to mutter out, trying to remain as calm and collected as he could despite how his insides screamed with panic. "I, uh, I can't…"

Shiro turned to him fully as Coran started to direct the gurney from the training room. Shiro stood on one side of him, Lance on the other, while Allura held his head steady with some kind of altean neck brace.

He wished Lance wasn't there.

"I can't feel my legs," he whispered, ashamed at the trembling fear that echoed through his words.

He tried not to look at the way Lance's expression shattered.

"It'll be alright," Shiro said easily.

"Don't worry, Keith," Coran said at his feet, voice oddly tender. "We'll fix any damage done. You'll be right as earth rain."

"Coran's right," Allura assured, casting him a warm smile from above. "The healing pod will have you fixed up in a dobash."

Which he knew. He hadn't lost a leg, after all, just damaged something that allowed his legs to move. But the panic didn't go away despite how he tried to hide it. He'd never  _not_  had his legs before. He'd lived without family, without a home, without food even, but never had his physical body failed him. He felt like he was trapped inside something foreign, something that didn't belong to him, and the more seconds that ticked by, the worse it got.

"Keith, you need to stay calm," Allura advised, probably having noticed his accelerated breathing. "We're almost to the infirmary."

"Sh-She's right," Lance interjected, the sound of his voice snapping Keith's gaze his way. "Deep breaths, man. You'll be alright." He managed a tight smile, which nearly had Keith breaking for more reasons than he could even begin to categorize.

"Y-You're hurt too," he managed to croak out. "Your back. You're-"

"Don't worry about me," Lance murmured, before he reached up and brushed Keith's bangs out his face. "I'm fine."

Lance's other hand, it… Keith had his own wrapped around it. How long had he been death-gripping Lance's fingers? He had no idea.

"Coran and I are going to set up the cryopod," Allura said as the gurney came to a stop. "Just a few minutes longer, Keith."

He wanted to nod, but didn't have the energy. He felt completely zapped of everything. The lights above his head were spinning. He tried to blink them into clarity, but it didn't work. Every time he tried, the cold buzzing at the back of his head got ten times worse.

"Shiro, the blood," Lance whispered over him.

"I know." Shiro disappeared for a second before reappearing above Keith's head, a towel in hand. A second later, Lance was reaching up to lift his shoulders while Shiro slipped what must have been the towel behind the back of his head.

"I'm bleeding?" Keith asked, his question causing Lance to meet his fading gaze.

He grimaced, before turning it into a forced smile. "Just a bit," he murmured. "You'll be okay."

But he wasn't okay, was he? No feeling in his legs, blood. It was… it was bad, wasn't it?

"Lance," he managed to croak out, hardly able to keep his eyes open by that point. "It's okay." He held Lance's hand tighter. "I'm not mad."

Which only seemed to upset Lance further, his smile pulling  _back_  into a grimace as he flicked his gaze to the gurney.

"Lance." Keith tried to tug on his hand, wanting those eyes on him again. Which he got despite Lance's momentary hesitance. "I'm not mad at you," he repeated. "I was being an asshole too."

A statement that had Lance releasing a barking, bitter laugh.

A single tear streaked down his cheek.

"I forgive you," Keith said softly.

Lance's chin shook and Keith's world grew dimmer.

"I-"

But there was no chance to hear what he said next.

"Allura! Coran!" Shiro snapped harshly, voice too tight.

"Yes, it's ready!" Allura announced, the two alteans once again returning to his side. Lance had no choice but to get out of the way then, as did Shiro. Everything happened so quickly then—being stripped down and encased in the elastic healing garment (which unfolded and stretched itself around him automatically), being pushed upright by the gurney before being placed in the pod. The whole time, Keith just felt colder and colder, his hand flexing with the memory of Lance's.

Until he was closed up tight, his heart beating fast as the world went dark.

Of course he'd likely been holed up for hours, but the whole experience felt more akin to a nauseas drop from a cliff, lasting only seconds before he was gasping into consciousness again. The door to the healing pod was cracking open, Keith's stomach flipping as he stumbled out.

His legs supported him—they worked just as they were supposed to—and he was so relieved that he nearly fell to his knees. But before he could, Shiro was there and holding him up against his chest.

"I'm fine," Keith drawled as his nose was pressed awkwardly into Shiro's shirt. His head was still spinning, but the more he blinked, the clearer things became.

"I'm sure you are, but I'll feel better once you can stand on your own," Shiro reasoned, seeming to only hold him tighter. Which Keith supposed was alright for a few seconds. Without Lance to cuddle with lately, his human contact had dropped significantly. And seeing as he'd gotten quite used to it, he'd been left wanting. Though, while he was fine with the hug he was getting from Shiro, he'd much prefer it be Lance.

But perhaps that was getting a bit off topic of the current situation.

Shiro half dragged, half helped him walk to a nearby chair. He was still somewhat discombobulated, having never experienced the cryopod before, and so it took him a few moments of relieving stillness to notice that Shiro wasn't the only one there. Everyone was there, all of them staring down at him in concern, and so Keith felt abruptly exposed. Like a goldfish in a bowl.

He didn't like it.

Lance was there too, a fact that seemed important enough to acknowledge. He stood some behind Hunk, watching Keith and looking away when Keith happened to look back.

"Like I said," Coran's voice boomed behind him, causing Keith to flinch and whip around. "Right as Earth rain. And good to see your reaction time is up to par too."

Keith pursed his lips.

"You should have seen the scans, Keith," Pidge cut in then, drawing his gaze to where she stood beside him. "The whole back of your skull was cracked." Though she said as much as though it were interesting, her cheeks were a bit paler than usual. She didn't smile either.

Self-consciously, Keith reached up and rubbed the back of his head. It felt normal.

"It was  _sooo_  scary for a minute," Hunk added. "I can still hear the way your head sounded when you hit the wall." He fidgeted some in place, appearing a bit panicked despite the fact that Keith was newly fixed up.

"Let's… not relive those details," Shiro said, cringing.

"We're just glad you're alright." Allura smiled down at him. "Training accidents do… happen." Her smile turned a bit uneasy, before she shared a knowing look with Shiro.

Lance seemed to shrink further away, which drew Keith's attention more than anything.

"I don't know that I'd call it an accident," Keith said then, making sure to catch Lance's pained gaze as he did. "I mean, we were both being pretty stupid."

"Yes, you were," Coran agreed. "While simulating actual battle is helpful, the kind of aggression that hurts your teammates during training is not conducive to our aims."

They got injured enough on the battlefield—there was no reason for them to go out of their way to hurt each other. Especially when they were so good at doing it unintentionally in the first place.

Or maybe that was just him.

"How are you feeling?" Shiro asked.

"Fine." Keith shrugged. "Normal." A bit hungry, but it'd been quite a while since he'd eaten.

His stomach growled quite loudly then, causing him to blush while the others laughed.

"Why don't you go get changed," Shiro advised. "And then we'll eat."

Which sounded like a good plan to Keith. While he appreciated that everyone had been worried, and was even a little surprised by everyone's presence, he did feel far too exposed in the thin cryopod suit. The sooner he could get into his own clothes, the better.

"Lance," Allura said a second later, "can you take Keith to his room?"

Every nerve in Keith's body went cold. "Uh, I don't need-"

"Yeah," Lance said, sounding far too meek. "I'll take him."

Keith didn't know what to think of that.

The heavy silence that fell over the room implied that no one else did either, yet that didn't stop Lance from finally stepping forward. Hunk moved aside, Keith so shocked and dumbstruck that he could do nothing but stare helplessly as Lance came up beside him. He knew he was making it weird, or weirder, by not standing up immediately and just  _going_. But Lance was beside him, willingly so close, and they were watching one another, and Keith was pretty sure his mind was blowing with the shock of it all.

"C'mon, Keith," Lance said quietly, before gently reaching out and slipping his hand around the back of Keith's upper arm. But Keith was still too stunned to move, his lips parting into a gape as he continued to take in Lance's uncertain gaze.

So much of Lance's attention all in one day. And after so long without it.

It was overwhelming.

"Keith," Lance murmured softly, sounding almost desperate as he lightly tugged on Keith's arm. It was his tone that finally startled Keith back to reality. Not as vulnerable as he'd heard it before, but open enough to send his heart summersaulting around his chest.

Clamping his mouth closed, he didn't even manage a nod before he was suddenly standing. His movements were short and twitching—awkward—but he didn't have the composure to fix it.

Lance was still touching him, hand attached to his arm as they started to walk forward. Keith almost tripped. Keith, who never tripped. Who was always in best form and didn't have a clumsy bone in his body.

He caught himself, thankfully. That wasn't a scene that would make the awkwardness any better. Eying the door, he held his breath until he and Lance were through it, thankful when the rest of the team was shut out of eye and earshot.

Not that there was any relief for it. Lance was still walking beside him, hand attached to his arm. Their bodies, physically, were close, but Keith felt as though the distance between them was only growing the longer they were silent. That growth was speeding up the closer they stood to one another. As if the reality of their destroyed relationship swayed between them, wedging them further and further apart.

Keith wanted Lance to stop touching him. But he was also desperate to retain the contact.

His stomach rolled in his stomach. Was he going to be sick? Was he sweating?

This was too much. It was  _too much_.

"Keith…" His name on Lance's lips again. Please stop. Or maybe never stop. He didn't know which one was worse. Or better. Or- Or-

"Are you okay?" Lance asked, the two of them slowing to a stop in the empty hallway.

"I'm fine," Keith lied, unable to look Lance in the eyes again. Too personal. Too much. It was everything he'd never have that he wanted so badly.

"You're sweating," Lance stated, though he didn't sound entirely like himself. Which was good. If Lance was defensive, then maybe it'd be easier for Keith to get back to what was really between them. That was, broken feelings and irreparable damage.

"I said I'm fine!" Keith snapped and turned his gaze to the floor.

Finally, Lance's hand fell away from his arm.

And Keith's heart cracked just a bit more.

"I guess I deserved that…" Lance muttered.

Deserved what? Keith's unintentionally nasty attitude? His panic revealing itself as a bad attitude?

"No you don't." He muttered back, feeling quite small and helpless.

Lance didn't respond.

Still feeling agitated and exposed, Keith started walking again. Lance followed slightly behind him, which made it seem almost like he was chasing him. But not in the good way, like Lance wanted to catch him. More like Lance was chasing him  _away_. Trying to herd him into his room or something else totally irrational.

He didn't realize how fast he'd been walking until he finally reached his door, his chest heaving with the exertion. Lance had stayed with him, however, though he sounded relatively winded as well.

"I'm fine," Keith repeated, still unable to face Lance despite how he tempered his voice. "You can go."

 _You don't have to stay here with me. I know you don't want to_.

"The suits are hard to get off," Lance replied, still  _so_  subdued. "I can help you."

Keith's insides wanted to jump out of his skin and swallow him.

Saying nothing, not even nodding, Keith pushed his way into his room. Lance trailed behind until the two of them were trapped in the small, rectangular shaped quarters. Keith felt abruptly aware of the walls and just how close together they were. He stood in the middle of the room, unable to turn. There was the acute feeling that he was going to be attacked from behind and he wanted to defend himself.

Yet he also knew that was pointless—he was defense _less_.

"Look, Keith," Lance said behind him, Keith's stomach suctioning back against his spine as the words hit him. "I'm- I'm really sorry about earlier. And I know that there's no way an apology can make up for that. I… I almost  _killed_  you…"

But Keith didn't want his apologies. He didn't want  _any_  apologies. It wasn't fair, that Lance could just march in and offer such a thing, but Keith never could. No apology he had to offer could make up for the hurt he'd inflicted. It felt like Lance was rubbing salt in the wound.

"You don't have to apologize," Keith managed to say. "It's fine."

"Uh, no, it's  _not_." Lance stated, sounding a bit fiercer. "I cracked your skull, Keith. You- You were  _paralyzed_. I- That's so fucked up. That's not 'fine.' Like, I know what that feels like, not being able to feel- and I  _did that_  to you."

"It's fine."

"Stop saying that!"

So Keith said nothing at all.

"Keith…"

Lance's fingers skimmed the back of his shoulder unexpectedly, causing Keith to instinctively jump away. Like he'd been burned.

Maybe he had been.

"Keith, I'm sorry…"

" _Please_  don't say that," Keith dared to ask, despite knowing he had no business asking anything of Lance.

"But I  _am_  sorry," Lance repeated fiercely. "I was being stupid! And petty! And I was frustrated. And… And for some reason I guess, I thought that if I… hurt you, then maybe that'd make us even or something. But it only made everything worse and I'm so, so sorry. Hurting you doesn't… doesn't change anything."

Not the words Keith had expected to hear, but so much worse than anything he could have imagined. No, of course Lance hurting him wasn't the same as what Keith had done—Keith didn't even know what Lance could do that would be equal to the lines he'd crossed. Maybe it wasn't possible. But none of that even mattered! Because Lance was right, none of it  _changed anything_! They were still in the same boat, still in the same pain, and there was nothing Keith could do to fix it.

"Keith?"

It was already too late by the time Keith realized his shoulders were shaking. That his lips were pulling into a grimace and tears were rolling down his cheeks. He tried to hold it in, but a sob escaped him anyway, even as he reached up to cover his mouth with his hand.

Couldn't Lance just  _go_? Having him there, but also  _not_ , was so, so,  _so_  much worse.

"Hey, man, c'mon," Lance said softly, yet again reaching up to touch him, to place a hand lightly on his shoulder. The weight felt like a brand through the thin membrane of the cryopod suit, but Keith gritted his teeth and withstood it. Because what else did he have the right to do?

"Please don't cry," Lance said quietly, sounding as helpless as Keith felt. "I said I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that!" Keith managed to shout through his upset, quickly losing what little control he'd possessed.

"Why? I  _am_!"

"Because- Because-" What could Keith even say? That it wasn't fair? That he didn't want any apologies from Lance if he wasn't allowed to apologize? That none of it changed anything so why bother? "Because I don't deserve it!"

"You don't- Keith, I almost killed you!" Lance rebuked. "Of course you deserve an apology. You deserve much more than that!" He squeezed Keith's shoulder. "There's nothing that justifies what I did to you."

He said such things like they were certain, but Keith knew none of it could be true. Because he felt it  _every day_. Inside him. Like a weight that was trying to  _drown_  him.

"Stop! Just stop!" Keith begged, trying to back away from Lance's touch, but too shaky to succeed. "I don't  _deserve_   _it_!"

Lance faced him fully, grabbing both his shoulders. "No, you stop. What I did… I did it because I was frustrated with… but the two situations aren't weighed against each other, okay? I did a horrible thing and nothing you've done makes that okay. I don't… I don't get to hurt you just because… because you hurt me. That… That won't make anything between us any easier…"

"I wish you would!" Keith spat, still fighting the emotion that tripped up through his throat and the tears that kept flowing. "I wish you'd hurt me! I wish-"

"That won't make anything better!" Lance shouted back. "Me hurting you isn't going to make it any easier to get over what happened!"

Which Keith  _knew_ , but hearing it out loud just made him feel so much more helpless. And lost.

His whole body was shaking, shivering like a dried leaf in the dead of winter. He had his legs back, but no strength to support himself. Not without having eaten recently and not with Lance so close. So close and out of his reach.

He began to sink, another sob ripping through him as he fell to his knees. He covered his face with his hands and tried to push it all away, but it overflowed.

"Keith!" Lance followed him down, crouching in front of him and yet refusing to let him go.

"I can't  _do_  anything!" Keith admitted despite himself, the words tumbling out, trampling over his lost control. "I can't fix this! I messed up everything and I can't  _do anything_! It doesn't matter how sorry I am because that doesn't undo what I did to you! And I hate it! And I hate  _me_!"

The breath was knocked out of him then, when Lance fell forward and wrapped him up, long arms tight around his back as Keith's face was shoved gracelessly into Lance's chest.

" _I_  don't hate you," Lance whispered, his hold only growing tighter.

"And I- I  _forgive_  you."

Just hearing the word was like someone had taken a pot of boiling water and thrown it in Keith's face. He wanted to get away, to run, because Lance's words were in direct contradiction to everything he'd told himself to be possible. Like a bandage was being slowly peeled off his whole body, or getting a shot that was as long as he was tall.

But Lance kept a firm hold on him, not allowing him to escape, and Keith could do nothing but cry into his shirt.

"I'm not saying what you did doesn't still… hurt," Lance went on, "but I forgive you. I don't hate you, Keith. I could never hate you. You didn't… You didn't try to kill me or something, and you didn't abandon me even when I was a colossal jerk. You just… You just tried to  _help_. I know that. And it wasn't all your fault. I- I put you in a horrible position and me being messed up doesn't make that okay."

"I'm  _sorry_ ," Keith cried desperately.

"I know. And I'm sorry too. You deserve-" Lance's own voice choked a bit, his hold on Keith tightening even more. "You deserve an apology too. Not just for- for what I did earlier, but for how I treated you. You were right. If I was allowed to help you, then I should have let you help me too. Maybe- Maybe then none of this would have happened."

Keith didn't even realize he'd reached up to grab at Lance until his shirt was twisted into his fists.

"I should have just been honest, Keith, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Part of Keith was still rejecting any apology, like a child pushed away the medicine that tasted bad going down. But Lance kept holding him, forcing him to hear it, and so he swallowed it down despite how it burned and made everything inside him shrivel.

He let Lance's embrace wrap around him like a noose, and he let his smell waft through his nostrils like toxic gas. His voice was a grenade exploding in his ears. His words were knives that impaled themselves into his body with each syllable. Yet he withstood it, because no matter how painful, what was happening was too good to run away from.

Time wasn't a variable. Keith didn't know how long he sat there, cradled in Lance's arms and just… sobbing. Maybe it was hours, maybe it was only a few minutes. Such things didn't matter once the storm had passed and his brain was frazzled enough to numb him to the pain. Perhaps it was shock, perhaps it was a defense. The ache was there, throbbing through his whole body, but like his heartbeat, it existed beneath the protective net his nerves were forming, if only because there was no actual hope of immediate relief. Everything inside him was screaming with pain and his brain knew there was no point in trying to stop it at that point, so perhaps it was best to just give up.

To give in.

The ringing in his ears was so loud that even the quiet that existed once his sobbing had died was like a scream.

It was only when Lance spoke that his brain finally managed to stifle all the noise. Like an anemone closing around an intruder.

"You should eat something," was all he said, like such a thing was even important given everything else. To be frank, Keith hadn't eaten properly in two weeks anyway.

"I'm not hungry," he said, his face still buried in Lance's shirt.

"I know for a fact that you are—I heard your stomach growling in the infirmary."

Maybe he had been hungry, but he wasn't anymore.

His silence eventually drew a light sigh from Lance. "Alright," he murmured, before pulling back. Their bodies separating reminded Keith acutely of how it felt to peel wet hair from his skin, the sensation sending a new shiver up his spine. "But even if you don't eat, you need to get out of that cryopod suit. I know from experience the kind of wedgie those things give you."

He smiled then. Actually smiled. And at Keith no less. Which only made Keith's guilt and shame collapse atop him tenfold.

"Hey," Lance said gently, his smile dropping away as he reached up and slipped Keith's hair back behind his ear. His fingertips must have brushed Keith's cheek, but he was too numb to have felt it. "It'll be okay.  _We'll_  be okay."

Keith wasn't ready to believe that. He wanted to, because Lance was the one saying it and he was the only one that could make that possible. But it was still just… too much. Too impossible to digest.

Maybe Lance was resigned to that, and so that was why his lips pulled into a frown. But he didn't get up and leave. Instead, he carefully reached back around Keith's neck, where the tab for the cryosuit was, before he delicately pulled it loose. The suit was thin, but sturdy, and though it seemed like it'd be easy to peel away, is stuck like a leach.

Keith would have just ripped it off, ignoring any resulting painful pulling on his skin.

But Lance… Lance carefully rolled the membrane, which split down his back along a seam. He slipped his long fingers beneath it and gradually pulled it back, Keith gasping a slight breath when the pressure of the suit released his throat. Until Lance's touch rolled the suit down over his collarbone, shoulders and back exposed to the chill of the castle air.

His touch still burned, but wasn't quite the same now. Not a balm, but not a brand.

It was something else that finally,  _finally_ , pulled Keith's bloodshot gaze up to meet Lance's.

That blue stared back, Keith aware of the way their breath warmed the space between them. All the while, Lance kept slowly pulling the suit down, his knuckles brushing against Keith's bare chest. Until the upper half of his body was exposed from the the sternum up, the fabric catching around his arms and no doubt making it difficult to raise his hands should he have wanted to.

And when Lance released the suit to delicately ease his hands flat against Keith's chest, fingertips brushing across his collarbone, Keith's breath shook for reasons outside his previous distress, whole body shivering with the pulsing heat that dropped down through his stomach.

Lance's hands slowly graduated upwards, sliding over his shoulders before the touch was gliding up his neck and cradling his face. Not squeezing, not insistent. Barely there.

But Keith could feel it like a cold cloth against a fevered forehead. It made him nauseous and he swayed, lashed fluttering when Lance's thumbs carefully caressed the skin of his cheeks.

He kept looking into those blue eyes, clinging to Lance's gaze as though doing so gave him the very breath he needed to survive. He wasn't sure if Lance was going to pull him up or drown him. Neither was bad, Keith ultimately decided. Both involved Lance, and that meant even drowning would be a small, pleasant kind of death. Even if he didn't deserve a death so sweet.

But then Lance's hold was stiffening, and his gaze was dropping away, and Keith was alone in the desert again.

"Get some rest then, if you're not going to eat anything," Lance said, tone fortified as he silently stood.

Keith didn't know what he wanted anymore—whether he wanted to reach out and stop Lance or be thankful he was leaving. So instead, he just sat, the cryosuit hanging half off his body. The chill of the room surrounded him as Lance stepped toward the door—a winter wind blowing abruptly through a window.

The sensation caught his breath, chest releasing a hollow sigh that stung like needles inside his lungs.

He wanted to turn and he wanted to stay. He wanted to stop Lance and he wanted to push him out the door.

He wanted…

He  _wanted_.

"Lance," his voice croaked, the sound sending another loose tear slipping down his cheek.

"Yeah?" He must have been standing by the door as Keith heard it swish open in the same moment.

He didn't know what he was going to say. Whether he was going to ask Lance to stay or release a pointless apology yet again.

"I miss you," his voice spoke for him, the words ripping from his tongue like a sewn patch would from fabric.

There was a short pause before Lance replied. "I- I know," he murmured. "Me too. I mean…

"I miss you too, Keith."

A second later, the door was closing, Keith hyper-aware of his own breathing being the lone sound echoing around the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor touch-starved Keithy-boy. So they finally, like, communicated? Sort of? We'll see how Lance feels about it all next chapter. 
> 
> I was honestly surprised at how people reacted to Hunk last chapter, of all characters. Like, yeah, him and Keith have some issues to work through, but him dissuading Pidge from inviting Keith to their get-together was his way of protecting Lance, who they hadn't hung out with in near two weeks. Sure, it sucks Keith wasn't there, but I also don't think Hunk can be blamed for just wanting to be with Lance. I don't usually care how people interpret characters' actions in my fics, but, like... Lance seeing Keith at that point wouldn't have been good for either of them. Hunk knew that, but that didn't mean he was going to pass up the oppurtunity to be with Lance either. 
> 
> Anyway. Yeah! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Hopefully things will start to look up from here? Who knows--this story surprises me as much as it does you guys, lol. 
> 
> ALSO! I haven't been that great at keeping up on my patreon, because I've been... really busy with work. Originally, I was going to update this story there a month ahead of here, but that plan hasn't been working out all that great for me. BUT I think I'm going to try and use it again... maybe... ANYWAY! That was the point, because Chapter 14 was actually posted there a WHOLE MONTH before it was here. And, yeah... I think I'm going to try and follow that rule again from here on out. Hopefully that will give me enough time to still write despite working two jobs. So yeah, I use the same screen name for everything, if that, uh... matters ;D

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on tumblr - SKayLanphear


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